Patterns of Force
by honeyberry2000
Summary: Post Brave New World. In a world where the beast has been tamed a new evil  rises. Secrets are revealed and time sometimes reopens old wounds. Remember: fate has a way of realizing itself.
1. Sleepless Nights and Lonely Days

**Patterns of Force**

**Chapter 1: Sleepless Nights and Lonely Days ~ **

**Inspiration Song-Soon As I Get Home-Faith Evans (random right)**

**I get inspired to write based on music that drifts from my iPod on random. To answer an unasked question: No, chapters do not follow the song or soundtrack; they just give me a circular idea. Please be kind my first ever attempt at a Heroes fic. Named for one of my favorite episodes from Star Trek: TOS. ~Even Historians fail to learn from History. And if you live forever how often will you commit the same mistake? **

**Post Brave New World. This may be a long fic, bear with me. Vespar just in case you didn't know it already you inspired me for this one.**

**Rated M for language, adult situations and depending on the flow of this story as it unfolds some sexual situations.**

**Don't own Heroes, Star Trek or Sylar (tis sad but true). **

***For those reading on mobile devices I've added 00's for breaks.***

* * *

***0000000000000000000***

Claire sighed, as she stared sullenly outside to the rapidly passing landscape. The car jostled as it hit a pothole pulling her out of her dismal inner musings.

The world was so different now, and it wasn't the world she expected it would be.

Daily her thoughts would circulate about her actions the day she jumped off the Ferris wheel. After the initial media circus died down, her life was then relegated to a reality TV sideshow. It was the only viable suggestion that would effectively to end the reporters that followed her every move. After about three weeks of that freak show performance, she put an end to all media related ventures and became a recluse for the better part of the last six months.

That was- up until this morning, when a frantic call had her on the move.

**0000**

She really didn't expect the calm to last as long as it did but she was grateful for her "vacation" of sorts from the chaos that had become her existence. She never wanted this to be her life. She wasn't normal and most of the people she knew weren't normal either, but this life…well, it wasn't a life. If she had Hiro's power she would have undone this whole mess in a second, but you know…butterfly wings.

That sentiment rolled through her body tumultuously as she grabbed her cell.

Unfortunately this was an issue she couldn't handle on her own, she would need reinforcements. She frowned as the name of her intended recipient flashed across the screen; her conscience screamed at her violently detesting the implication of having to make this call, but she had no other options.

The phone rang three times before the eerily chipper voice of her former nemesis picked up.

There was no trading of 'hello's' just a knowingly arrogant greeting. "Claire, how's my favorite cheerleader?"

It was way too early and Claire couldn't fight her exasperated retort. "Sylar, please not today. I…"

"Michael," he interrupted. "You know I don't go by that anymore." He chastised her in that mock parental tone. She hated that.

"Whatever, I need your help." Her teeth were gritted in disinclination. She could already imagine that smug look on his face.

"And what can I help you with?"

Yep, smug and way too damn chipper! She hated him even more if it was possible, but she continued.

"Parkman called Angela this morning…"she paused already overwhelmed. "Matty was kidnapped and Janice is in the hospital on life support."

Sylar felt a strange pang in his heart. In the short time he took on Parkman's persona he bonded with little Matt, and in some twisted way experienced the peril of this incident like a father would. He must have been silent too long because Claire cut into his thoughts.

"Sylar did you hear me?"

"Yes." He responded curtly.

"I need you come with me."

"Where?" he sounded slightly annoyed. But Claire could care less.

"Molly tracked him to Utah...she paused." She sounded tired, even to her own ears, nothing like her former self. "That means he's still alive."

"Syla-Michael, this…" she hesitated "…this might be a really fucked up mission."

"How so?" His interest sounded piqued and dampened at the same time.

"Angela said…" she was holding back, he didnt need all the details yet. "She said I needed you on this one."

"What about Peter?" he sounded annoyed, but honestly there was never any gain to be had when you got involved in Angela's schemes.

"NO! -He can't be there." Claire responded a little more forcefully than she intended.

"Why? What happens?" she could almost see the inquiring quirk of his thick brow.

"He just can't, okay." She tried to clam her breathing as the thoughts of what her grandmother said rolled in her head. "Look, are you in or not?"

Sylar sighed heavily with the full knowledge he could never deny her, he owed her too much. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

* * *

**000000**

Claire glanced over at her 'partner'; it was strange looking at him now. His countenance had changed, he smiled more but it was still creepy. Today instead of his usual black attire he opted for a pale blue button-down and khaki cargo pants, his hair was a bit mussed with a light tan, giving the impression of being a normal guy. She wondered how he was faring now that he was attempting to return to a somewhat ordinary existence.

One thing Sylar promised Peter would be his repression of certain powers. Unfortunately that meant **No** telekinesis, **No** electric manipulation and _**NO**_ flying; all the powers that made Peter either cringe in trepidation or repulsion on how he acquired them. Not that she minded this promise, but right now flying would have been preferable to the day in a half trip they were making now.

But his non-flying also had much to do with staying off the radar. The subtle powers he maintained were just enough to keep him out of trouble. Sylar already had to change his name to end the nonstop manhunts and press that were searching for Gabriel Gray aka Sylar who was wanted for questioning in no less than fifty-eight unsolved homicides. He instead decided to go by Michael (ironically another angel) Tourneau (another watch maker).

Sylar was a psychiatrist's dream project; full of contradictions and disturbing patterns.

Looking at him now, she had to admit he was an attractive man, and if it wasn't for the whole serial killer, that murdered-everyone-I-know history, he might have been her type. But he was still Sylar, murderer, bloodthirsty maniac; no matter how differently he wrapped himself in cloth or personality.

He must have noticed her staring because he answered her unasked question.

"I know you don't really believe that I've changed." She gave him a wary look not answering his slightly smirking face. He continued undaunted. "Claire, Peter trusts me, Angela trusts me, for chrisakes even Noah-fucking-Bennet trusts me, otherwise we would not be in this car right now, but you… you won't even give me a chance."

She didn't even comment on the character witnesses he presented, they weren't exactly the epitome of morality. Instead her noncommittal response conveyed her position on this little endeavor. "I'm here aren't I?"

He shook his head in disgust with a muttered, "Unbelievable," and turned his attention to the road ahead.

This was going to be one long-ass trip.

* * *

**00000**

It was around 9:30pm when the little red Volkswagen Jetta pulled into a dilapidated gas station a few miles outside Shelton, Nebraska. Under Claire's advisement they avoided stops in large cities and stuck to small towns to avoid recognition. They were both hungry and tired and in desperate need of sleep.

Sylar stretched his back and legs walking around the car as Claire strode off to obtain the restroom key. Walking behind the car he glanced critically at the tag. New York plates would stand to be highly noticeable in the region of the country, so he decided to change it to something that would be less memorable. He passed his hand over the plate, creatively using his ability of imprinting, and it transformed to a dusty replica of a Nebraska plate he saw a few miles back. He knew he would have to change it again once they got to another state, but if they were going to spend the night here, they needed to blend.

After filling the tank he noticed Claire had still not emerged from the station.

A general unease shuttered through him at the thought of something happening to her, she was after all, a celebrity of sorts and those who wished to harm her were everywhere. If anyone so much as laid a finger on single strand of her hair, Noah and Peter would have him strung up by his toenails from top of the Empire State building; not to mention the hell any perpetrator would have to pay, from his _own_ vengeance, for daring to mess with _**his**_ Claire.

Scanning all surrounding sounds with his superior hearing, for any suspicious activity or vehicles he strolled cautiously into the station.

His eyes landed skeptically on the pudgy female clerk standing behind the counter. Her curly reddish purple hair was coifed into a messy ponytail, and a stained blue smock was the only indication of her 'attendant' status. Sylar tipped his head politely in greeting and headed towards the area he assumed the restrooms were located; he got no further than three steps when he heard the attendant's loud bellow. "Ya, need the key, honey."

He turned deliberately and placed a sugary sweet smile on his handsome face before strolling back to the counter. The woman smiled appreciatively at the striking from of masculinity that was now gracing her with his presence. Taking on the southern accent he adopted when trying to persuade Claire's adoptive mother years ago, he laid it on thick.

"I'm looking for my wife. She came in here a few minutes ago. "Short," he gestured her small stature to prove the point. "blo-brunette," he pointed to his own hair, faltering on her new bottle job, but persisted in his description imperviously. "Most angelic face on this earth."

The woman smiled, "Oh her, she's been in there for a while. Hope she didn't fall in." the attendant giggled at her own joke and Sylar grinned, his tension not alleviated by the teasing words.

So that's your wife?" the woman remarked curiously.

Sylar smirked knowingly, lifting one thick dark eyebrow that indicated he caught on to the attendant's vein of interest. That notwithstanding, Claire as his wife still had a nice ring to it.

* * *

**000000**

Claire fluffed her hair in the tiny truck stop restroom and sighed irritatingly. She barely recognized herself these days. Her former sun-kissed, blonde curls were replaced with dark auburn waves, dark brown contacts obscured her jade green eyes and she was dressed leaps and bounds away from the Texas cheerleader of her former life. The oversized t-shirt was baggy and hid her petite frame completely, coupled with baggy sweats she looked like she was headed to sleep under a bridge.

She leaned into the mirror poking at her face, hoping her features showed the turmoil her life had become. Disappointingly, it didn't. Her face was just as perfect as it had been the day of her first attempt.

Her existence was shit right now. She had no real friends, half of family was gone and the other half didn't understand her. All the friends she did have were "special" and they only seemed to hang about, for the camaraderie that came from being faced the common cause of survival. It was a sad day when your closest ally was a deranged ex-serial killer.

Shaking her head ruefully at her reflection, she smirked evilly…friends reminded her of Gretchen.

_Bitch. _

Gretchen had sold her out as soon as money and fame became a real possibility. Her story sold for big bucks and the bestselling tell-all was headed towards becoming number one on Amazon. Sometimes Claire wished she allowed her dad the freedom to use René to erase Gretchen's memory. Morally gray my ass-! That idea was black, pitch even.

Pushing away from the sink she smoothed her hair with one last glance at her reflection and placed a plastic smile on her face. Claire walked through the stacks of high calorie snacks towards the cashier who was already engaged in conversation with a tall dark haired man. She groaned inwardly as she noticed how attractive he looked when he was relaxed and non psycho. It was strange how charismatically engaging he could be considering his homicidal and antisocial nature. She chuckled softly on her own private joke as she considered Sylar and his parallels to Charles Manson.

He looked up when he heard her, which would be a widely considered, silent amusement, "Ah there she is." Sylar voice was sickly sweet and Claire knew she had to play along, reworking her best fake smile she approached his outstretched arm.

"You're one lucky girl." The clerk remarked enviously gazing at Sylar, and quite obviously a little love-struck.

"I like to think he's the lucky one." Claire forced trough her phony smile.

Sylar turned from the clerk's smitten face to look at Claire meaningfully, "I'm pretty sure you're right. I'm damn lucky to have you."

Claire startled slightly as she stared into his glistening eyes. There was a truth behind his words and she didn't know if it should have made her uncomfortable or reassured.

Plastering an even wider smile on her face, in the hopes of not giving away the hasty cover Claire looked lovingly at him. "Couldn't part with my presence for a few minutes?"

"I had to find out how much further to our hotel." He wiggled his eyebrows to suggest that their destination had some sort of sexual conclusion.

Claire remained plastic, inwardly fuming at the implication. He'd done the same thing at the Stanton, but now she wondered if she was just a tiny bit more receptive. His embrace was warm and strong and it felt good to be held. He smelled like some musky cologne and aftershave, not that shaving did him any good he usually had a 5 o'clock shadow by noon. Coming back to reality she noticed he was speaking.

"It's about 10 miles up the interstate." He said to her hair bestowing a loving kiss to the top of her head. Claire looked up at the woman behind the counter. The look on the woman's face confirmed that the charade was working, as the clerk blushed red at their affectionate state. Then out of nowhere Sylar leaned down to place a chaste kiss on her lips, brushing her dark hair behind her ears.

Claire was too surprised to react and by the time her wits returned Sylar had already laced his fingers into hers to lead her out of the store, grabbing a small plastic bag off the counter. "We'd better get goin' sweetheart." He drawled sensuously.

Claire could only nod dumbly noticing his phony southern twang. It weirdly suited him; much better than his brusque Queens accent and strangely enough it reminded her of home.

And home reminded her of…Texas.

She desperately missed Texas. Missed the slow pace of life living in Odessa afforded her. Had she been normal she be attending some state University right now, planning various sorority parties and going out with her like minded cheerleader friends. She'd be blissfully ignorant, and dating some handsome jock…Normal.

After a while of living this "charmed" life she had begun to wonder 'What was so great about normal, anyway?' She was extraordinary, special and the often protected prize of most of the people she knew. But then like lightning at dawn the reality came crashing in…oh that's right, the complete lack of unusually powered acquaintances, inhuman experiences, and daily threats on her life!

Yeah she missed…Normal.

They slipped back into the car with a marked pause as he turned on the ignition and pulled out. After about a minute of the discomfited silence Claire couldn't take it.

"Did you tell that woman we were married?"

"Yeah, newlyweds. She got suspicious when I went to look for you. Had to lay on the charm." He retorted nonchalantly.

"Well aren't you resourceful." she murmured snidely.

"I try." He smirked with an equal amount of coldness. The ardor feigned at the gas station forgotten as they reverted into their implicit adversarial roles.

They slipped into a more tolerable calm for the short time it took to get to a shabby motel off Interstate-80, in an even smaller town a few more miles west. Claire considered the shabby budget hotel, definitely not the Waldorf Astoria, hell, even a Motel 6 would have been better. Sylar gave her what appeared to be a sympathetic look. "Stay put. I'll go get us a room."

Claire rolled her eyes but remained seated in the car as Sylar strolled into the front lobby.

Had she had her way they would have gotten two rooms on opposite sides of the motel, but Sylar's _**common sense**_ prevailed. They had to stick together and not attract attention or this rescue attempt wasn't going to work.

He returned a few moments later with a self satisfied smirk. "Come-on cheerleader."

Claire rolled her eyes at his annoying moniker for her. "Stop calling me that."

He quirked his thick left eyebrow in teasing "Stop calling me Sylar."

Touché!-Damn-it.

They knew their roles too well. Damsel and Psycho, it served them fine to this point, no need to muck the waters. Her tiny reprieve from the present was short lived when she stepped into the room and let out a foul curse.

"One Fucking Bed! Really, Sylar!" her toned dripped with disbelief.

He held up his hands in defense. "It was all they had. If you prefer I can sleep on the floor, _princess_. It's probably cleaner than that bed."

Claire huffed in frustration.

She hated the thought of having to sleep in the same room with him but the idea of them sharing a bed was repulsive… and….and… appealing at the same time. What the hell was happening to her?

Sylar slung his long body on the bed despite his earlier statement. His hand rested behind his head and he stretched to his full length. Claire chanced glance at the bed and was overcome, her heart stopped in pure shock, as the beginning twinges of a forbidden desire only seemed amplify the 'appealing' part of her previous sentiment. She recognized the feeling that was invoked when a bed and Sylar came to collusion in her morally gray mind, and naturally that sentiment was…

Lust.

_**What the hell! **_

The memory of a forced kiss in a vacant classroom entered her mind and only fueled the budding lust. At the time she refused to admit that it caused an ache in her loins that only made her angry at herself for allowing it and at him for causing it. It was strange how that day began her reluctant softening towards him. After that whole incident of reluctant assistance, she tried to make it work with Gretchen, but nothing about the drab brunette elicited an iota of the passion Sylar achieved in mere seconds that afternoon.

She hated human biological response sometimes, and its drive to satisfy sexual desires despite rational thought. And given that she was still on the virgin side of life, the urges presented themselves at the most inopportune times. Catching herself daydreaming again she glanced over to where Sylar had lounged moments before, but he had already slipped into the grungy hotel bathroom. She heard a muffled noise of disgust and smiled despite herself.

Deciding to purge all sexual thoughts she began rummaging around the room she searched for the wayward remote control. The 'idiot box' was always a good distracter, as long as they weren't playing episodes of her short lived show or the daily report on the new abilities manifested today like they used to do the crime rundown.

On second thought maybe television wasn't such a good idea. Coming up empty in the obvious places Claire let out a huff of displeasure before the TV flickered to life. Her eyes went sharply to the bathroom door, expecting to see Sylar demonstrating his trademark ability of telekinesis, but instead he held the remote and stood gloriously shirtless, in obvious preparation for a shower.

Claire suppressed a gasp and instead aimed an evil glare at his dark chocolate eyes. "Do you have to be naked?"

He cocked his head a sneered wickedly. "Yes! Why? Is it bothering you?"

"Yes!" She spun around quickly, hoping to avoid that knowing look in his eyes, while searching desperately for her own duffle bag.

"Prude." He muttered, scoffing at her naiveté.

"Asshole." was her equally mumbled retort. Claire flopped down on the bed and began to fumble around in her bag for nothing in particular, she just needed a distraction.

He stepped around the bed to face her. "What hell is wrong with you?"

"This…"her arms stretched to indicate the entirety of the room. "You, this whole damn mission. I'm stuck here with a serial killer…"

"Reformed serial killer."

"Just because you have Peter fooled doesn't mean I believe you."

He closed the small gap between them and towered over her dangerously. "Hey you roped me into this; I could just leave right now." His voice was back to the sneering quality she was used to; the animosity strangely comforting.

"Fine! Go, I can do this myself." Claire put on a brave front, her clenched teeth bared in anger. Anger was good it dampened the lust. Good anger. She'd go with it.

Sylar suppressed a growl. She was infuriating.

He recovered quickly and replaced his exasperated expression with a rueful smile. "And how do you plan on rescuing little Matty? Your amazing bulletproof body doesn't exactly have an offensive ability."

Claire scowled at him. "I could manage."

"Then why bother calling me at all."

"Angela said you had to come." She almost spat that last statement. Angela Petrelli was not on her list of favorite people right now.

"And what is it exactly that I'm supposed to do?" His stance took on a murderous quality and she shifted backwards on the bed a bit. "You haven't told me everything and I think it's time I heard what going on."

Claire swallowed thickly. "Angela…she said- "it has begun. The tapestry must be revealed."

The frown on his face deepened in confusion. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know! She so goddam cryptic when she unveils her dreams."

He shook his head in agreement and pulled back a little.

"Why isn't Peter here?"

Claire shifted towards the pillows trying look comfortable despite the rising unease in her stomach. "She said if he came he would die, and being that you and I are the only immortals in this equation, we're the only ones that could survive this assignment."

Sylar's immense insight and immeasurable knowledge aside, this whole plot made no sense. She wasn't lying and surprisingly, not holding anything back. He ticked his head speculatively, focusing his one of his many talents on her thoughts. He hated to use his abilities more than once a day but right now he needed the whole story. She resisted his presence in her head repeating the line. 'You know all you need to know.' While he admired he resolve he had to figure this out.

Sylar pushed harder and saw a vision that wasn't hers: _Peter screaming in agony as bolt of energy hit him._

Sylar sat up straighter unsure of how Claire knew that particular detail of what he believed to be Angela's dream. He reached for her elbow but when he grazed her shirt in the effort to clutch her, the flashes began…

_He and Claire stood in an abandoned warehouse surrounded by unknown specials and an unfamiliar woman holding Matty flanked by Nathan's boys Simon and Monty._

_A tall young man stepped forward and commanded the crowd to stand down with a thick Australian accent. He looked at Claire speculatively before a bolt of energy shot from his hands that quickly disintegrated her body to ash. Sylar didn't have time to react when he felt the life leave his body with the same fate._

Sylar faltered backwards in shock as the impressions stopped bombarding his psyche.

"I thought you were going to stop reading minds!"Claire shouted evilly.

"It wasn't your mind, it was this." Sylar spat disgusted yet awed at the same time. He gripped the sleeve of Claire's t-shirt and she cocked her head hesitantly.

"This is Peter's shirt." She clarified. Sylar wasn't even going to touch the weird incestal connotations that particular bit of information provided, and instead focused on the reason Claire would be wearing said shirt right now.

Sylar narrowed his eyes. "Did Angela insist you wear this?"

Claire's eyes coursed his widened dark ones tentatively and her uncertainty only grew as she shook her head in the affirmative.

"What kind of fucked up game is she playing?"

"Why, what did you see?"

"You DIE, I DIE, and if Peter was here he'd die too." He scrambled off the bed in search of his shirt.

Claire shivered at the certainty of his words. He looked scared and if it scared Sylar, something was wrong. "We can't die," was her only weak protest.

"Jesus, Claire don't you see? This is fucking suicide!" He slipped his shirt back on leaving it unbuttoned as he stuffed items back into his bag.

"Not for us." Claire tried to interject with a sliver of hopefulness.

"Even for us!" he shot back evilly, his eyes were now black with determined intent.

"We'll have to see, now won't we?" her chin jutted up in defiance, hoping her brave front calmed his resolve.

Sylar caught the boldness in her eyes and his own softened slightly. "What do the boys have to do with this?"He looked just as exasperated as she felt all day and he sounded like Nathan again, all paternal. She knew he was referring to what Angela said about her half-brothers. Claire shivered unconsciously thinking of the fact that for a short while Sylar had been her 'father.'

"They are NOT your boys! Stop being him! You are NOT him!"

Sylar narrowed his eyes. "Either you tell me what's going on, or this little road trip from hell is over."

Claire sighed heavily sensing she was losing his cooperation fast. She never had to constantly reassure Peter when they went on their two person crusade to save the world. Damn. She missed Peter.

"Angela said we're the only ones that can stop him." It was hard to explain the obscure details of a situation she didn't understand herself.

"Him?"

"She only spoke of him as the Angel of Darkness."

"Sounds like my old title." He retorted unimpressed. Claire rolled her eyes and continued.

"From what I understand we have three weeks before all humans are destroyed."

"And by humans…do you mean those without abilities."

She nodded her head sadly "It would be a human genocide."

Sylar sat back shocked into silence, looking at the cheerleader and hoping what she was implying was not the finale to the nightmare he saw through his clairsentience.

"We've been through this before you know the whole save the cheerleader spiel...It's getting old."

"This isn't about us," she hissed. "It's about 98% of the world's population being annihilated."

"Look I know I've turned over a new leaf and all, but I'm not that kind of hero."

"Then what kind of hero are you?"

"Not the world saving kind." His face contorted into that knowing sneer that she hated.

"Sylar..." his eyebrow rose in warning at the use of his former moniker. "Whatever, I'm never going to call you Michael, so get over it."

"They are all going to die if we don't stop this now. Matty is only the beginning." She rose indomitably from the bed and stalked towards him threateningly, delivering the lynchpin of her petition through clenched teeth. "And you owe me!"

He stood silent for a while mulling over all the variables. He always knew Claire would be the death of him, of that he was sure, but this wasn't how he imagined going out.


	2. Errand of Mercy

**Chapter 2: Errand of Mercy**

**Song Inspiration- The Unforgiven~ Metallica**

**Today 5/15/2010 our beloved superhero drama was cancelled by greedy corporate fiends, so in memoriam I hurried to finish this chapter**.

It felt like Groundhog Day. Claire was again staring sullenly out of a window at the passing greenery. She sighed heavily as she hazarded a glance at her reluctant associate.

Sylar's expression hadn't changed for the past two hours, and he hadn't said a word to her since they'd checked out of the hotel this morning.

"Sylar…?"

Silence

'Sylar …we need to talk about it."

"We don't." His chocolate eyes flashed in irritation. Claire's fluttered closed in frustration as her nostrils flared. So he was going to act like nothing happened? FINE!

Sitting back in her seat with a huff, Claire went back to her distance stare to the outside.

When he was sure she was fully ignoring him, Sylar stole a glance at her. This situation was impossible. Why in god's name did he agree to this mission? He didn't want to talk about what happened last night, it didn't matter now.

He let the silence pass through the cramped space again.

The rest of the drive was relatively uneventful and they arrived in Utah with an hour to spare. Apparently the silent treatment had a major effect on his lead foot.

They seemed to meander through the city streets in Provo before coming to the industrial side of town.

"3478 Rikers St.…Building 5, right there." Claire read off pointing to the dark gray structure.

Sylar angled the car into the eerily vacant warehouse cluster; putting the vehicle in park he released a heavy sigh. The building Molly had pinpointed looked empty and it appeared as though it had been that way for quite some time.

They stepped out of the car in tandem, giving the warehouse an appraising once over, creeping silently around half of the structure before Claire located the overhead door entrance on the east side. Upon approach they noticed the padlock securing it was unhinged and they gave each other a meaningful glance.

Sylar rolled the door up with little effort and they were greeted to the sight of dust particles floating discordantly in the equipment laden, abandoned warehouse.

Claire shivered. It was creepy -like a haunted house and even though she knew nothing could really kill her, she still hated to be scared out of her mind.

The duo wandered about cautiously with the full knowledge that looks can and often are deceiving. Claire looked about the vast room puzzled. Why would someone hide a toddler here? -Just then her cell phone rang.

Sylar rolled his eyes in annoyance_. Cheerleaders_…Claire ignored his expression and flipped open her phone.

"Hello."

"Claire?" A male with a painfully obvious cracking to his voice responded.

"Yeah. This is her"

"It's Micah."

"Okay…I know. Caller ID." As of late Micah became like her little brother, and in Lyle's absence it was nice to be a big sister again, even if he did have a small crush. Proving the point of her and impossible relationships with men …and women; Peter, Alex, West, Gretchen and now Micah not that he was really a contender, it just proved her point that she seemed to be at the heart of another slightly incestial relationship.

"Hey, I came over looking for Molly and Dr. Shuresh said she was with you. He told me to call you and find out what time you'd be dropping her off, because she has a tutoring session."

Claire lifted the phone from her face incredulous. This week just kept getting stranger and stranger.

Sylar rolled his eyes again and walked off, fully intending to skip this conversation. Runaway teens in the big city were a common occurrence; it was just ironic that the kid who could find anyone couldn't be found.

"What? She's not with me!" Claire continued cautiously, now not entirely sure if this was really Micah.

"Then where is she? He said she left with you this afternoon on a shopping trip. He said you called him this morning to make sure it was okay!" He sounded panicked and his adolescent voice was childlike again.

Claire turned from the phone, looking at Sylar terrified. "N-No, I –I didn't call. Last time I talked to Molly, we were looking for Matty. That was two days ago. The line went silent. "Micah…what's going on?"

"Oh-no," Micah choked slightly. "It's not your number."

"What isn't?"

"The number that called here this morning, it wasn't yours…it came from, Australia!"

"Australia?"

Sylar stiffened at the location, remembering his vision of the man who would kill them. He decided the best course of action would be to find some clues so this damned mission could be over.

"Can't you track Molly's cell."

"She left it here, that's why I called you."

"She never leaves her phone…" Claire confirmed before realizing the gravity of that statement. "Where's Mohinder?"

"At the hospital." Micah's voice cracked again under the stress.

"Why?"

"Didn't you hear? Peter's in a coma." Micah stated as though it was common knowledge.

"WHAT!"

Sylar continued to stalk around keeping himself busy, and forcing himself to not eavesdrop on the conversation.

It was strange to use a flashlight instead of his always useful ability of voltage but he had promised Peter. After a few moments he found a bright object that caught a glare from the small Maglight.

He crouched down to examine it properly when he noticed it was a shiny plastic pacifier that had rolled under a tarp covered Bobcat pallet lift. It was not covered in dust and when he picked it up he noticed the still wet stain it left in the muddy dust build up. Whoever had been here had been here, recently. Very recently.

The tingle of awareness rolled through him as he saw the pacifier's recent history –

_Matty was crying as a woman cooed to him softly shifting from her disguise as Claire into the image of Janice Parkman. It only served to frighten the child further and he flung the pacifier from his mouth in protest kicking and beating his tiny fist._

Coming back to himself Sylar mutter a curse. Another, shapeshifter. Shit!

He heard the clap of Claire's cell phone closing and her not so concealed half run to his location. When she finally reached him she was on the verge of tears, grabbing his shoulder like a lifeline. He turned to face her and saw the raw edge of her fear, it was palatable.

"Molly's missing and Peter's in a coma!" she rushed the statement, still in a state of disbelief.

His eyebrow rose quizzically. "What the hell is going on?"

"That was Micah. He said someone called and sounded like me. They told Mohinder that Molly and I were going shopping. No one has seen her since and somehow Peter's in a coma." Claire let a single tear trail down her cheek.

"Shit! SHIT!" Sylar ran his fingers through his lengthened locks, shaking his head for clarity. A meaningful pause ensued as they both wrapped themselves in contemplation. Sylar broke first; looking solemnly at Claire's paled appearance and resisted the urge to comfort her. "Matty was here… recently."

Her eyes were glassy now and she swallowed the huge lump in her throat. Reluctantly a whimpered sniff escaped her reddening face.

This time he could not defy the impulse to hug her. He gathered her in a tight embrace and let her cry. She gripped him like a lifeline pouring all the sorrow and unshed tears of the past few years into him. No one else could ever understand how much her world hurt. He knew this pain, lived it and buried it so deep it turned him into a sociopath. She still didn't know why she was hugging him she hated him…

_Right_?

Sylar's chin dropped to the top of her head and began to cradle her tiny frame against his own. Never in his wildest dreams…well maybe in his wildest, but never in his sanest dreams did he imagine Claire Bennet would ever hug him. The feeling was indescribable and awoke that warm feeling he hadn't had since he was Nathan. With her sobs her body began to shake her body violently and he cooed softly to soothe her.

Claire's face tipped up red and swollen eyes full of distress, and she stared at him speculatively. Sylar could only stare back. Time seemed to tick slowly and for a moment he was sure she was going to kiss him, but he banished the thought as an insane product of too much time in isolation with the cheerleader…_but_…

Claire pulled away quickly and smoothed her shaking hands down her shirt to regain some semblance of her lost composure.

"I have to call Parkman."

"Call Angela too." His voice sounded brusque even to his own ears but he felt brusque and slightly— _aroused_.

She nodded her head in agreement and began to dial, turning her back on him.

Sylar tried to keep his anger reigned in but between Peter's hospitalization, Matty's disappearance and now Claire's unwitting seduction, he was fast losing his control.

Finding that light of inner peace he gained from Elin, a 78 year old, former Sullivan carnie, Sylar let the peace ripple down his body. It was an ability that induced high levels of endorphins placing a person in a meditative, peaceful trance and in Elin's life before she realized her ability she was incidentally a yoga instructor. Sylar was glad that he only needed empathy to gain this ability because he really liked the elderly lady. She treated him like a grandmother would treat her grandson. Calm now possessed his body; the ability also did a damn good job of reigning in his anger that usually led to the insane hunger.

Now back on neutral Sylar strolled aimlessly around the warehouse hoping something else would give him an impression of who exactly they were dealing with. He was beginning to suspect that this whole thing was a distraction for something bigger. Was whoever was arranging this goose chase planning on taking out powerful specials while he and Claire were distracted? Why was Peter…?

His thoughts were interrupted by Claire's return to his side.

"No answer from either."

He sighed annoyed and bereft of an explanation to all this…chaos.

"There's nothing here. Whoever took the kid is long gone. But you and I need to get to New York."

"But we haven't found Matty."

"Have you been listening? Matty's gone and Peter's dying! He needs your power if he's going to live, so I think it would behoove us both to get the hell out of dodge."

Claire glared at him evilly. She knew he was right but she just hated when he was.

The beeping of machines was the only sound drifting out of the sterile room. Tear swollen eyes rose to the saline drip as each drop of the solution fell like sands in an hourglass. All of her experience was null when the person she cared about most lay in the hospital bed. Thirteen years of training and schools and she was reduced to that crying girlfriend at her dying boyfriend's side.

Emma gripped Peters hand and squeezed, hoping and praying he could comprehend her presence. She glanced around the room expecting those numerous faces that always seemed to crowd Peter's life (and most annoyingly) his apartment on a daily basis, but the room was conspicuously unfilled. She ticked off each of their names in her head; Angela, Claire, Mohinder, and Peter's ward as of late, Micah to name a few, where were they? She felt a presence on her left and focused her eyes to the door. Leaning dumbstruck against the doorframe a scruffy faced, disheveled caramel-colored man stared in a panic, his eyes crazed with an emotion she couldn't place.

"Mohinder?" She asked aloud, her deafened accent rising in alarm.

He remained silent, simply staring and breathing heavy ragged breaths, taking in the scene in front of him.

The silent stare lasted longer than was normally sensible and Mohinder knew he was probably scaring Emma so he tried to sign as much as he knew.

'_Molly's gone, - taken_.'

Emma emerged from her almost prone position on Peter's bedside to gaze at him.

'_Matty's gone, taken_.' Mohinder signed, and her eyes grew wide in alarm. Emma rose completely at that but kept a firm hold on Peter's hand.

"I fear Claire is in danger." Mohinder conveyed this time speaking and stepping closer.

"Angela?" Emma asked aloud.

"No response." He looked at his phone as though it were useless. Emma swallowed hard and tore her eyes back to Peter.

Mohinder noted that the scene before him was eerily similar to the time he comforted Matt when Daphne died. His heart clenched, the world was falling apart. For all he knew Molly was dying or dead, Matty was probably suffering the same fate.

He shook his head to expel the wayward thoughts. He couldn't think like that right now, it was counterproductive.

Mohinder looked up at Peter and remembered Claire. Her blood could cure and in some cases revive the dead, she was invincible, but if she was in danger, everyone else was even more so.

Mohinder stepped to the other side of Peter's bed. And let his eyes wander over his form noting each bandage and bruise. He stooped down to make eyes contact with Emma, noting the weariness in her eyes.

'_What happened?'_ He signed.

Her eyes left Peter's unmoving face and locked in on Mohinder's infinite dark eyes. "A man came he shocked him with a bolt of energy, Peter absorbed it. He fell down unconscious. He was burned here." Emma pulled back his gown to a bit to reveal the large compressed wound spanning Peter's chest and stomach. Mohinder struggled to swallow the hard lump in his throat. "He died twice in the ambulance." She continued. Her eyes rose meaningfully to his. "They don't think he'll make it through the night. Possibly brain damage."

Her eyes began to shine again with tears and she buried her face into the pristine hospital linens.

"He will live if we can find Claire, her blood…"he paused momentarily as he remembered the last time he used Claire's blood to heal the dead. "Her blood has healing properties."

"You said she's in danger"

"She is, but she's with Sylar. He'll protect her."

Emma sat up straighter looking at him as though he'd lost his mind.

"What, what's wrong?" Mohinder began to sweat, and shake slightly his adrenaline peaking as he poised himself for the 'other shoe to drop.'

Her face contorted noticing the change in his reaction. "Sylar's dead. I watch him die as he tried to shield me and Peter from the man who attacked us. He distracted him long enough for me to drag Peter to safety, but he disintegrated in the apartment." A fresh round of tears sprung forth for her two time hero, who in the end had given his life for them.

Now it was Mohinder's turn to stare at her incredulously. "No he's very much alive and on his way here from Utah as we speak."

As if on cue a tiny knock on the door tempered the tension and Mohinder looked up to see the petite brunette enter the room, flanked by a tall brooding man that appeared disheveled and solemn.

Claire all but pushed Mohinder out of the way to get to Peter's side. Her eyes shone with tears as she looked up at him then to Emma, whose attention was trained on Sylar as though he were a ghost. Sylar seemed to catch her stare and cocked his expressive eyebrows questioningly. "You're not dead." she squeaked her tears returning full force and he looked more confused and stared at Mohinder for an answer. He only received a stoic gaze.

Claire wiped the wet streaks from her face and met Emma's eyes. "He needs to absorb my power."

"He can't when he's unconscious." Mohinder volunteered.

"Then he needs my blood." Claire stated not missing a beat.

Mohinder nodded his head in agreement and the taller blonde rose, leaving the room in search of a syringe.

As soon as she left Claire turned to Mohinder with gritted teeth, "What the hell is going on here!"

Sylar proceeded further into the room, taking the place that Emma vacated at Peter's side. He didn't touch him, but Sylar stomach ached uncomfortably. This whole humanity thing had one significant drawback, and that was the emotional ties he formed. Peter was the closest thing to a friend he had, and their roommate status as of late was almost fraternal. He kind of liked the weird family unit they made; Peter, Micah and Emma kept him grounded—human.

Mohinder stepped closer to Sylar, but not too close. The past few months hadn't done enough to alleviate his fears of the man who had killed dozens, including his father.

"That was fast." Mohinder remarked snidely.

"We had to fly; you said he was deteriorating…quickly."

Mohinder nodded; glad he had put urgency into the equation. "Emma said you died last night in the apartment…defending them." Sylar's eyebrow quirked, puzzled. "She believed she witnessed your death as a bolt of energy disintegrated your body. Do you have some strange cloning power I don't yet know about?"

Sylar's face tilted in annoyance. "Trust me doctor, if I had the power to clone myself I'd find a much more interesting use."

Mohinder resisted the urge to roll his eyes, when Emma arrived with the syringe. Claire took the needle from Emma and Mohinder moved towards her to draw the blood, but before he could react Claire had the cap in her mouth and plunged the needle into her arm. It was crude and should've been painful but she didn't flinch.

Sylar simply stared in silent admiration. He loved her drive and her heroism, frankly he just loved her. He detested that he had these feelings but he –well he had no other reaction to her. She was perfect and special in every way and he could admit it now, at _least to himself,_ that he loved her.

When enough blood filled the syringe, she pulled out and handed it to Emma, who injected the blood into Peters arm.

They waited…

Nothing happened. Claire looked at the people in the room incredulously. "It's supposed to work."

"It needs more time." Mohinder countered undaunted.

"Maybe there is too much damage." Sylar stated looking on bewildered.

"No. my blood is supposed to work."

"Well it's not working." Sylar's voice was scathing.

"Is there an eclipse coming?" Claire asked almost hopefully in Mohinder's direction.

"No, not for months and none like the ones we know."

"Then what's wrong?" Sylar's voice was nearly a growl. A silence befell the room as they all seemed at a loss for a viable explanation.

"Maybe it's time we accept that we can't always cheat death. We all must, sooner or later face our own mortality." Mohinder chimed uncertainly.

Claire took a heavy breath; she knew what it felt like to die. To really die, not just reset and she shivered with the memory. Sylar looked on helplessly as Claire crumbled; her large tears and hiccups turned into wails and then mournful begging for Peter to just 'get up' that caused Emma to dissolve into tears as well.

Mohinder and Sylar shared a mutual look of discomfort for being the wrong gender to understand sudden their outburst.

"This is all my fault I should have known this was a trap." Claire wailed softly before casting a feeble glance at Sylar for confirmation, then back to Peter. "We walked right into this, and we let this happen to you. I'm so sorry."

Sylar scowled at the monitors. Doctors, technology the whole lot of it was worthless if it couldn't save those who really needed to live.

He could feel the anger and it built to a point of a scorching fire. Someone intentionally hurt someone he cared about. It was poetic justice, yet he didn't believe in justice, only retribution and vengeance. Then it began again…the ticking; the sound of a hundred clocks in collective discord. That echo struck him, and paralyzed all other concerns in his mind; it was the clamor of someone else's terror, their screams and desperation. Sylar shook his head fighting to banish the wave of his original, overpowering ability. That sound…it numbed him…mostly because it was soon followed by a ravenous need to figure out a puzzle at _ALL_ cost.

He had to leave, had to get out of here before he scalped every single one of these useless doctors and nurses. He had to get away and get a grip.

Sylar was so consumed in his own inner turmoil that he didn't hear the desperate calls of his name as he fled the room down the long corridor.

13


	3. The Trouble With Angels

**Not sure if I'm hitting the right cord with my readers. Hopefully this brings you back. Please reveiw.**

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The Trouble with Angels

Michael Tourneau wasn't like Gabriel Gray. He wasn't even like Sylar.

Gabriel Gray was a depressed mamma's-boy, working to let time pass until someone discovered his dead body in his watch shop one day. He was unspectacular; a plebiscite in the grand scheme of human existence. And _HE_ hated him.

Sylar on the other hand, was an evil maniacal alter ego; a man Gabriel wished he had the confidence to be on his own. He was ruthless and took shit from no one, yet it was that same element of his personality that he used to push everyone away. Even Gabriel- his human side, no matter how pathetic he was- was a needed component for his sanity. Gabriel had all but been smothered by Sylar years ago. His voice of reason and restraint silenced for the span of his killing spree.

Sylar had no human touchstone for years, that was until Peter of all people, pulled him out, and that's why he just couldn't watch him die. Peter was his last thread of humanity, his last hope for redemption. And possibly the only thing that kept him from backsliding.

He stalked out of the room in search of an exit. He was in such a state of distraction he failed to hear the rapid foot falls coming in close.

Claire chased him out of the automatic doors and into the main lobby. What the hell was wrong with him? Sylar never ran away from anything. He was stubborn to a fault and faced all things head on.

He moved fast, long legs propelling him towards the exit. She caught up with him at the doors leading to the parking lot. "What the hell was that all about?" she screamed hoping he wouldn't just fly off.

He tuned and leveled a warning stare at her determined face. "Stay away from me." He voice was deep and graveled.

"No!" She planted her hands on her hips and defiance and stared him down.

"Please Claire; I can't control myself right now." He turned his whole body, shaking with the barely controlled rage. The fight was now wearing thin and he was staring openly at her mouth; her gorgeous mouth, pink and shiny with gloss. It was the only way he could focus and distract himself at the same time, and it was better than staring at her chest he reasoned.

"Tell me what scared you so bad that you run away from the people who care about you?" she ignored his blatant stare and continued her advance.

He scowled incredulously. "You don't care, you tolerate me."

"Do you think Peter just tolerates you?"

Sylar thought for a beat before answering. "He's probably the _only_ one who cares."

"What about Emma, Micah?"

"Thinly veiled fear." Sylar retorted darkly and Claire's mouth dropped open in surprise.

He smirked knowingly at her lack of comeback. "Look Claire, I'm not your _Uncle Gabriel_, and I'm not going to coddle you into trusting me. Either you do or you don't— your choice." He turned to walk away again.

"Sylar!" Claire's voice was desperate and he stopped his retreat and turned to face her. "You're probably the most powerful person on Earth and we need you."

"You don't need me you just want me on your side."

"What's the difference?" she feigned misunderstanding, but she knew full well what he meant.

He quirked his eyebrow knowingly, "Really Claire, don't insult me." He turned and began to walk again but she called out to him again.

"You still didn't answer me. What are you so scared of? That we'll leave you. Are _you _afraid that everyone _you _know is dying?" She looked at him scornfully remembering the Stanton and how he callously listed off those that would precede her into death one by one.

"What do you know about my fears?"

"I know you're afraid to die alone."

"What could you possibly know about fear, Claire Bennet? You were spoiled by your mother; doted on by both of your fathers. Loved and cared about by so many." His eyes narrowed dangerously causing Claire to take a step back as he advanced. "I've been unwanted my whole life. Lived in fear that no one would care if I just simply— stopped breathing."

Claire's throat tightened. This was more than she expected to get from him and-damn. She couldn't do it- just hate him like she wanted to for all eternity. In that short couple of seconds Sylar was human and a small crack began to fissure around the stonewall that was her heart, and she felt a twinge of compassion for her former tormentor. She knew from what Peter told her that Sylar was an injured soul, almost delicate and hanging on by a thread. He leaned against the nearest car in defeat; head hung low as he continued.

"My father murdered my mother in cold blood right in front of me." He looked up and caught the momentary look of shock on her face before swallowing hard to continue. He never told anyone about his mother, other than that twerp Luke who just happened to be there and Peter only got a glimpse. "Of course that was only after he sold me to his brother and that fanatical woman that raised me. Then naturally, _that_ deadbeat left us to fend for ourselves." She was beside him now green eyes shining sympathetically. Her breath came in hard labored sighs her chest swelling in pity and sadness, he sounded so lost— like a small confused little boy. "I'm so sorry." Her hand smoothed up his arm soothingly. Sylar looked down at it in surprise.

"I -I thought you hated me; that you'd enjoy hearing about my suffering."

Claire's gaze softened even more. "I do…I—I did…about the hating thing." She chewed on her bottom lip. "I honestly don't know how I feel about you."

"But you feel something." his gaze was indecipherable yet hopeful. Any emotion from her was better than apathy.

Claire nodded her head dumbly with an almost audible gulp and Sylar looked at her like the enigma she was.

"What?" He asked, fighting the squeak of surprise in his voice. "What do you feel Claire?" He didn't dare dream it was something akin to what he felt but anything remotely favorable would be appreciated.

"I don't know—I really don't know?" They were now less than a foot apart. So close she could sense his racing heartbeat. He was so tall and warm, she fought the urge to touch his chest and instead let her eyes rise to his, catching that emotion that made her own heart race, this had to be some sort of ability but she was too far gone to fight it. "Syla—."

A loud BANG broke the moment and both sets of eyes turned abruptly to catch an obviously exhausted Mohinder racing into the parking lot.

"Guys come quickly. It's Peter, he's awake."

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Whom Gods Destroy

Angela woke from her dream a little groggy. What she saw was impossible, it would never happen…couldn't. She sat in stoned silence realizing that her actions or inactions may have put into motion the events she saw. She swallowed hard choking down the bile that rose to her throat. Bunching the luxurious sheets in her hands she looked down willing back the fear to set her resolve. After a few cleansing breaths she slipped her feet to cold hardwood floor and padded quickly over to her desk, looking desperately for her cell phone.

"Looking for this?" A chill went up her spine. She knew the voice, knew what was coming, yet she was still powerless. A tall man with hair the color of straw rounded her bed with the tiny device in hand. If she hadn't known any better she would have thought Sylar had dyed his hair, they were that similar looking.

"It's too late you know." Angela stated confidently betraying none of the fear she felt and the mysterious man cocked a thick pale eyebrow in uncanny similarity to her declaration.

"The plan has changed but it's not over." His voice was thick with an accent Angela couldn't place immediately.

"They know what you're planning."

"I know, and I thank you that. And for your assistance in killing your son."

"Peter—!"

"Is dead… As you will be in few moments." He fingered a silk scarf that hung from her closet door wistfully. "Tell me do you still cling to your belief in a higher power Mrs. Petrelli?"

Angela backed away. "You bastard…"

"And I killed Mr. Gray too. Hope you don't mind." He fiddled with small knickknacks on her nightstand all the while stalking further into the room.

"You wha—!" Angela blanched. She was too late. Too late to warn them, too late to save them, and the world was doomed. Somewhere I her mind she pondered the irony of being too late to caution someone of an impending danger, while possessing the gift of clairvoyance.

"Next, is you of course, then your granddaughter, maybe that pudgy mind reader. You know…I really haven't decided." He playfully clamped her cell phone open and shut, noticing his prey was cowering and flush against the wall. He smirked evilly with the knowledge that he had her right where he wanted her.

The moment was broken by the piecing screech as her phone rang. He didn't flinch; instead he eyed the caller id and sneered. "Probably the _jacks_. I left his body intact you know."

He tossed the useless gadget to the bed and closed in on her.

Angela stared into the eyes of her killer and mustered all the poise she developed over her years as a kept woman; schooling them into her features. She might be going out, but if so it would be on her own terms.

"Kurt…"

He gave her a defiant stare that indicated he was less than impressed that she knew his name. "I won't pretend I'm not afraid of dying here, but I must let you know, I have seen the future and you are not in it."

He smiled a full toothy grin and it was unquestionably an ugly one. "Well I guess that makes two of us, because neither will you."

* * *

"I need you to protect her Sylar. You're the only one who can."

"Peter, don't talk like you're dying. You're not dying."

"Look man, Claire's blood slowed it down, and taking her power halted the damage but for some reason I'm not healing – not thriving."

"If you can die from what ever happened we won't fare much better."

"You know what to expect, you're smart, ___ingenuitive…__truly____ immortal. Peter looked off into the distance. "Just take care of Claire, and keep Emma, and Micah safe." Sylar's lips thinned. Peter was giving him his last wishes. This wasn't what he wanted, the plan had fallen apart. _

_"__No." Sylar stated defiantly._

_"__No?" Peter repeated, looking at his friend dubiously._

_"__Cause you're not dying." _

"Sylar don't make this harder than it has to be." Peter coughed weakly.

"I should have been there. This was all a trap; they knew they could only get to you if I was out of the picture."

"Man, none of this is your fault."

"I should've known!"

"How could you've?" Peter pleaded softly and Sylar shook his head in defeat.

"Dude you have really been a good friend these past years and I forgave you a long time ago…" Peter chuckled softly remembering their "nine years" in solitude together. "Now all I ask is that Claire, Emma, and Micah have a good life."

"Peter—don't." Sylar turn his gaze to the beeping monitors avoiding Peters gaze.

"I'm asking you as friend… Hey man look at me." Sylar forced his gaze back to him.

Don't take Claire with you. She's already bitter and angry don't let her become that woman I saw in the future."

"Then what can I do? She's not going to stop."

"Take her home. Take her to Sandra."

"She can't control Claire."

"You be surprised the pull—", Peter inhaled thickly before continuing. "- a mother has." Sylar nodded in agreement, but his face contorted in concern at Peter's lack of breath.

"I don't care how you do it just get her away from here. She's a target."

Sylar head bobbed in acquiesce. "And Sylar…" Peter gave the man a meaningful look not finishing his statement. They both wanted to say it but knew it was impossible to articulate. Sylar knew what that look meant but was in too much turmoil to give it a proper name; he swallowed thickly taking one last glance at his best friend before he left the room.

If Peter's dying wish was Claire's safety, so be it. Didn't matter if he had to move the heavens and Earth to attain it he would honor his request.

In the waiting room the crowd had grown significantly. Sylar suspected they were friends of Peter's from his nursing days because they stood off in corner looking suspiciously at the "special" crowd. Emma sat sadly with Claire and Micah, all of their fingers intertwined in what looked like prayer. When she noticed Sylar's presence in the room Emma looked up and stood, heading to where the priest was standing nervously with the 'normals'. Most of the people in the room had their turn to talk to Peter and she knew it was now time to take the holy man back. Emma gave Sylar an indecipherable look and patted his arm meaningfully as she passed him at the door and motioned to the priest.

His gaze drifted towards Claire, her gorgeous eyes were red rimmed and swollen, but she still looked beautiful. "Is he...?" She let the question linger, unable to vocalize the idea of Peter's death. Sylar shook his head no, and she swallowed hard thankful, but obviously still distressed.

"Can-can I talk to you… In private." he indicated his head towards Micah who had all but curled up into Claire's lap. Surely he was too old for that Sylar reasoned, trying to convince himself that twinge he felt in his gut wasn't jealousy. Realistically she was actually closer to Micah in age than to his own, but that non-withstanding Micah's affection toward Claire wasn't even a real contest. Not that any of that mattered, Claire borderline hated him so Micah probablyhad more of a chance than he did anyway. Sylar shook his head frustrated with himself. Why was he thinking about his almost pedophilic feelings for Claire right now? He had a job to do.

She barely acknowledged his previous request, so he repeated with a more forceful, "Come on Claire."

"Where are we going?" Claire cocked her head with confusion and Micah gave him a challenging stare.

"Please just come with me." Sylar knew he sounded annoyed, but Micah's budding 'interest' in her was starting to rub him wrong.

"Where are you taking her?" Micah asked skeptically lifting his head off Claire's lap to allow her to stand. Sylar narrowed his eyes and gave the young man his best authoritarian look.

"Micah it's okay." Claire hurried, sensing the growing alpha male tension building. She leaned slightly to kiss the top of his sleek black curls before pulling back to give him a reassuring smile.

Sylar looked on and resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the adolescent's reaction to the almost motherly affection bestowed. He was jealous but he knew any outward sentiment he displayed would convey his feelings.

Claire's smile for Micah melted when she turned to face Sylar, replaced by a hollow look of distaste. and a dispassionate, "Lead the way."

He led her down the corridor into a small vacant waiting room. He checked to make sure no one was coming and secretly sealed the door closed.

_What the hell. _Claire moved to the center of the room looking for any viable escape. Not again. Peter wasn't even gone and he was already going to go all psycho.

"I don't have much time Claire so don't fight me." He walked forward toward the dimly lit corner.

"Wha-what are you doing?" She stammered backing away as though he was about to attack. She looked like a woman prepared to run from a sexual assault and he scoffed at the implication.

"Seriously Claire? Don't flatter yourself. And if I wanted to, I could have had you a long time ago." The knowing sneer was back in his tone and expression.

"Then what do you want?" she halted her retreat, in favor of not provoking the *tiger* further.

"To follow through on a promise."

"Of what?' She asked softly and his head tilted in speculation of her suddenly soft tone.

" I'm taking you home."

"Home. Home where?"

"To your mother."

"My-my mother! In California. No way! Uh-uh. We have to catch this guy. He almost killed Peter and he has Matty!"

"I can do this alone." Sylar assured her.

"No way. I'm coming." That determined look was back on her face. He could tell this situation was now a personal vendetta to her.

"I'm supposed to protect you. Keep you safe" He stepped forward to grab her arm in an attempt to usher her towards an exit before she got more riled.

"I don't need you to protect me." She snarled and snatched back her arm.

"Listen Peter is my best friend and I will do anything to protect his family. He paused looking expressively at her. "I've done so much harm…I will protect you with my life Claire."

Claire blanched at the grim circumstance that her uncle's best friend was a serial killer who had murdered his brother- her father. However the look in his eyes spoke volumes. He was very serious— sincere.

"Why do you care?"

"Believe it or not Claire I do care about you… a lot.

"No." Her tone was laced with more denial than disbelief.

"Yes. But as long as Peter's alive I will…" He paused realizing the grim prophecy of his words and recent events. "Claire I told you, I will do anything to keep you safe. I owe it to him. So you'll stay put."

"So what you're going to go off and try and fight this guy? And what if he kills you?" Claire's hands planted on her hips in dispute. "What am I supposed to do then? Her green eyes shone with unshed tears, her tenor terse. "He already tried to take Peter, and if you…what if you can't stop him? What then?"

Sylar swallowed hard, diverting his eyes from her shaking frame. He sighed heavily before closing the distance with his long legs and wrapping her up in a tight embrace which she fully accepted. It was weirdly comforting to know she also felt the sting of a potentially lonely eternity.

Claire's eyes shook as she tried to control the tears. She buried her head in his warm body and tried to manage her sobs. Peter was dying, people were disappearing and her only comfort was a former sadistic killer. This was a pitiful state of affairs and she almost wished she could've called her father or better yet her mother, but...no, they didn't understand they never did, not really. They tried but it was pointless.

Claire tipped her head back to stare at her "monster". He looked so open and remorseful. She imagined the real Gabriel Gray looked like this…before the hunger and her father took over. Her gaze must have lasted longer than it should have because during her intense appraisal she couldn't help but notice the change in his disposition. In an instant his eyes were dark with an unreadable glaze to them and before she could comprehend Sylar lowered his head to capture her lips.

It was not the forced pressing of lips it had been at the university. It was tender, soft even, words she would have never associated with the killer. She should have known better, he had the most gorgeous lips she'd ever seen, that slightly pouty bottom lip, pink and supple-she felt a moan leave her mouth unimpeded. His lips…teeth…tongue…it moved so sinfully against her mouth and then his hand grazed her stomach, rounding her waist to pull her closer...

_Oh god, help her pitiful soul. _

She was lost again as his tongue softly stroked her bottom lip before nipping it softly with his teeth. She should have pushed him away. Kneed him in the groin and ran or any of the number of things one should do when a murderer kisses you; but instead she did the unforgivable, she opened her mouth.

Sylar slipped his tongue inside her soft lips letting it caress hers, and was rewarded when she again moaned softly in response. Her leg lifted to his hip to give her a better angle on their height difference and he was gone…

Her knee slid up and down his leg coming dangerously close to a very insistent member of his anatomy. He realized at that point that Claire Bennet was kissing him back, that she was enjoying it, and wanted more. He pulled her full bottom lip into his mouth, sucking softly and she whimpered, beginning to trace her hands along his arms, as his stomach coiled in desire.

Claire was loathe to admit it, but she liked the feel of his body, thin and slightly toned, she traced curve of his bicep and strong line of his shoulders. Her hands flirted their way to base his head. Sylar offhandedly wondered if she was looking for his "off switch", but instead her fingers threaded into his hair pulling slightly, and not with the intentions of making him stop but to encourage him to take it further. Her body began to rock slightly against him, and all he could think about was a way to get to horizontal surface.

Claire released her left hands grip on his hair and trailed it down his body mapping the contours of his sides and down to his hipbone. Sylar stiffened when her small hand settled just above the top of his back pocket.

_**What the hell was he doing?**_ He felt outside of himself - disoriented. He knew unequivocally that he was kissing Claire… kissing her good, and she was reciprocating, but it still seemed wrong and somehow forced. The feel of her fingers grasping his hair were almost too delicious to let go, but for the sake of his sanity he had to pull away.

Sylar grunted repentantly pulling back. "I'm s-sorry. I...I lost control."

Claire's eyes looked back at him hazily, her lips were swollen. He was glad she took out those ridiculous brown contacts it was hard to read her emotions with them covering the expressiveness of her natural hue.

And they were shining and dark. She looked ravenous like she wanted to devour him, he just didn't know if he should let her. Sylar gained control of his breathing thinking of anything that would fend off his growing erection.

"I'm taking you to your mother." He stated breathlessly. Looking at the window he directed his telekinesis to it breaking it carefully. Claire began to protest but he grabbed her waist and without another word he rocketed the both of them into the dark clouds of a dreary New York City afternoon.


	4. Wolf in the Fold

**Chapter 4- Wolf in the Fold**

**Song: Somewhere I Belong-Linkin Park**

**Okay all- thanks for all the feedback, "you make my heart feel super happy!" **

**This is considered a fast update for me. Hope you like where I'm going and if you don't, keep reading anyway. Also I'm open to suggestions and trust me the M rating will show itself worthy soon.**

**Much love **

* * *

The sudden rush of cold air enveloped her as they climbed higher into the clouds.

Claire fought him for the first hour but after that they settled into a comfortable tolerance of each other, both of them lost in their dizzying inner reflection.

Claire was beside herself...confused and downright pissed.

_Did she just kiss him? Sylar. The man who had fingered her brain, killed her biological mother, father and countless others. The serial killer with a jigsaw for a finger...yep she just played tonsil hockey with **that guy**. _

_It was a good thing she had an eternity because _Oh-my-god_ she would need at least a couple of centuries of therapy._

Had to be a moment of weakness. Between Peter and all the other things going on she couldn't expect to be in her right mind. _Right?_ But of all people, why did it have to be Sylar?…_Uggghhh!_ Claire shook her head in revulsion.

However disgusted she was with herself, she had to admit that there were two reasons for her own personal hell; one of which, was the fact that she liked it, kissing the psychopath felt good. Too good, and not in the "teenage rebellion-slap-daddy-in-the-face-defiance" way, but in the "turn-my-knees-to-jelly-and-make- my-nipples-hard" way.

The other _was _that she _did_ take some sick satisfaction in the fact that it would piss off her dad. Almost served him right for all his manipulation and lies.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she failed to notice how far they'd gone. They had been flying for an hour and she could only estimate they were somewhere over the Midwest. She chanced a long gaze at him now; his brow was furrowed in concentration and a hint of something she couldn't place. It looked like pain but she could've been mistaken. Sylar felt no pain. Well, not emotional pain. He was the devil incarnate.

Sylar seemed to sense her thoughts and turned to her, brow creased even more. "And yet you want to fuck my brains out." He replied snidely to her unspoken thought.

Claire gasped at the blatant invasion of her psyche, turning bright red with embarrassment. She detested that particular ability. And now he made her realized why she hated him so much. Her face contorted into a snarl. "I hate you."

Sylar tilted his head thoughtfully with a raised eyebrow; his only response a careful, "Hmm." Whether it was from agreement or detection of an inner lie she didn't know and silence stretched again. and Claire contented herself by playing episodes of "I Love Lucy" in her head to block any wayward thoughts Sylar could pick up.

They flew another hour before Claire saw the plain vastness of desert beneath them. California wouldn't be far now. After another brief glance at her 'abductor', he looked amused probably picking up on her stray reflection about windblown hair and bugs splat at these speeds.

After another half an hour passed before she saw the manicured aerial view of Costa Verde. A silent sigh of relief took over as the thought of going home gave a soothing feeling of warmth.

It was mild sunny afternoon in California. One that should have been filled with waves, bikinis and childlike memories of a perfect summer day; instead she was wrapped in a psychopaths arms and one of few living biological relatives she had left was dying almost a continent away.

Sylar spotted the pristine neighborhood and decided to land in the community park. As he set her down gingerly, angry jade daggers glared him. "You sonofabitch, I hate you!" Claire pounded his chest irately; oblivious to the three person crowd that gathered not long after watching them land.

"Claire—" he began, clearing his throat to alert her she needed to stop before the authorities were called, besides her tiny fist falls were beginning to sting. Claire continued on her profanity laden tirade until one of the women in the modest crowd gasped. Claire spun around upon hearing the sound and blushed, but only after giving him one more frustrated push.

Sylar smiled at the people, "Lovers spat." He stated easily and the small group gave a parting consideration of Claire, who smiled fakely patting Sylar's abused chest with all the 'love' she could muster, before they dispersed somewhat nervously.

"You can't do this!" Claire raged through clenched teeth so as not to alert anyone else.

"I have to." He stated coolly before turning on his heels and walking down the street to her mother's house.

000000

Sylar approached the front door of the cookie cutter house with a real build up of trepidation. There was a chance, however small, that after today he might never see Claire again. It was unsettling.

His plans for the future were contingent on her being in his life and he was sure the opposite was true, especially after that kiss. His empathy inadvertently gave away her fear; the notion that she could lose him and be alone for eternity with no touchstone, her past as fleeting as the sands of time. Shaking himself of these thoughts he rang the doorbell to the house while Claire continued to seethe.

A tall muscular blonde man answered the door with a twizzler in his mouth. "Yeah?"

Claire's head snapped up at the sound of the voice. It was so familiar yet changed; almost sounding like her fathers', well her adopted father.

"Lyle!"She squealed wrapping her arms around her little brother.

_Lyle._ Sylar thought. Damn the kid grew up. Unfortunately he was starting to look like Mr. 'Horn-rimmed' himself.

The man-child smiled at his sister lovingly as she traced the planes of his very adult looking face. He smiled genuinely at her watery eyes before he bothered to look at her companion, but when he did, panic struck his features.

"Its… you…S-Sylar." The boy looked truly fearful while protectively rounding his sister behind him.

Sylar rolled his eyes. He forgot how he had terrorized this kid before, you know with the whole stalking his sister and trying to kill his father thing. And before he could open his mouth to explain the teenager produced a .45 caliber black Baretta, pointing it straight at his forehead.

Sylar had to give it to the kid- he had skills. Considering who his father was, it wasn't all that surprising.

"Lyle it's okay. He's not…" Claire paused to consider what she should say next, "…going to hurt me."

The boy didn't lower the gun and Sylar's eyebrow rose in admiration. This kid was going to defend her even if she didn't want him to and regardless of the fact it would get him killed. Maybe this whole, taking-Claire-home-thing, wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Claire stepped away from Lyle and rounded him to stand between the two. "Lyle—" she said softly, "put it away. It's okay." Lyle cocked his head in disbelief and actually straitened his stance.

Sylar was beyond impressed now.

"Lyle honey who is it?" A voice called from inside the house.

"Mom?" Claire questioned brightly. Hoping that her cheerful tone wouldn't alert her mother to the tense standoff.

There was a slight hesitation before an "Oh my god! Claire!" boomed from the kitchen and Sandra came running to the door to greet her estranged daughter, only to freeze when her eyes fell to the dark figure in her door.

"You…" Sandra Bennett's tone dripped with disdain.

So he wasn't going to win any points with her mother any time soon.

Hands lifted in surrender he gave the family a genuine smile that seemed eerie on his murderous face.

A long-drawn-out silence punctuated the tension that had no indication of abating. Sylar sighed, an impenitent smirk gracing his face. "Wow! Feels like family."

* * *

Kurt sat in a plush office chair expectant yet overall nonchalant, waiting for the seat's owner to arrive. It had been a long time since he'd seen the man in question. Too long considering the impact he had on his plans.

He perused the desk in search of nothing in particular. A few knickknacks, pictures of the man's family, one of woman he was seeing; all meaningless personal crap. He picked up a picture a pretty, young, blonde girl with bright green eyes— in a cheerleading uniform. The killer smiled despite himself.

As if on cue the older man exited the elevator of his luxurious studio apartment on high alert. Kurt could hear his heartbeat accelerate from 200ft away. Apparently years of the hunt had turned him into excellent prey.

Further fingering various items, Kurt's legs swung to the desktop to further annoy his reluctant host. The man in question, seemed to have boundary issues that didn't to apply to himself, and Kurt would exploit that issue to its fullest potential.

Noah Bennett was important to final execution of his strategy. He was vital. His cooperation meant that his plan was now fully in play. He mused on the events he set into motion starting with orchestrating the delivery of Adam Monroe to Arthur Petrelli. A full smile graced his lips; it was in a sense, poetic justice that he brought about the eternal man's demise as well as that of Arthur. Soon and very soon, the entire Petrelli clan would be a memory. He glanced at the smiling girl again and his smirk grew.

The door opened slowly and Kurt heard the man's hesitation and the muffled sound of a gun being cocked. Kurt shook his head, for a man with that much talent he sure was dense sometimes.

Noah rounded the corner gun drawn and aimed at the man who was holding a picture of his daughter. The man spun around in his chair to face Noah with a sickeningly familiar smirk on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"Tsk. Tsk. You are impatient and not nice to guest Mr. Bennett. I thought better manners of you."

Noah Bennett's eyes narrowed, "I thought you didn't need me anymore." He was under no illusion that Kurt somehow had something to do with the child abductions of specials over the past few weeks, yet the only way to find out his plan was to cooperate.

Kurt smiled and Bennett's face scowled in disgust.

"You see my dear sir, it seems there is more to the plan than even _I _realized."

"What are you talking about?" Noah's stance relaxed but he kept the gun trained on his unwelcome guest.

"Let us not tarry any longer Noah. I need one more favor."

Noah cocked a suspicions eyebrow; revolver straitening on the intruder. "I thought you were omnipotent. What do you need an _ordinary _human for?"

"Because, you're the only one who can stop what I in good conscious, wouldn't dare to."

"Stop what!" Noah snapped with venom in his voice.

"The tapestry, of course." Kurt stated like it was common knowledge rotating in half circles in the leather chair, like a child.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bennett was growing impatient as he watched Kurt's eyes return to his daughter's picture.

"Your daughter Claire and Sylar…"

"What about them?"

"….are…how can I say this without being crass…oh yes… They are going to fuck like bunnies in less than forty-eight hours."

Noah couldn't stop his reaction as his mouth dropped in horror. Realizing he was showing his weak hand he clamped it shut and it causing him to swallow thickly. "Not going to happen." Not my Claire she hates that monster I made sure of it."

Kurt smirked again. "Does she now? I thought you told her she could trust him?"

Noah's mouth dropped in revulsion again. He did tell her that; but he meant on a limited basis and only in Peter's presence. But _this_ man did nothing without a purpose, he was meticulously mindful of all implications of each decision he made and how it's possible outcomes would impact the situation at hand. Now, Noah had to figure out what part of the plan required him and why. "How does this help you?"

"Hmm…let just say I owe you one and leave it at that."

"I don't believe you."

The condescending smirk never left his narrow face. "Let me know when the wedding is, as I trust you'll be the one to give her away."

Noah growled angrily and struggled not to boil. Kurt rose and passed the man invading his space to lean in and darkly whisper; "I'll let myself out."

000000

Noah paced his office his mind a clouded turmoil. That man always unnerved him. He was almost more startling than Sylar himself. But his words about his 'Claire-bear' being with the man he hated more than anything ate him inside. Was this his fault? Did he push her into the psycho's arms? This was all Angela Petrelli's doing. That manipulative bitch did this by convincing him to assure Claire that her trip to Utah with the killer was negligible. Claire couldn't want that monster.

He refused to think it or accept it.

He was her father, her guardian, and he had to rescue her even if it was from herself.

* * *

They sat at the table in relative silence; forks clacking and tense unease. Claire glared at their dinner guest evilly. He seemed to be the only person enjoying himself. He scooped a generous portion of potatoes and gracefully consumed it.

"Ms. Bennett these are just delightful." Sylar pointed to the potatoes, and smiled wholly. Sandra grimaced and nodded to the compliment.

A few more uncomfortable non eating moments passed as three pair of eyes were trained on the killer at the dinner table, devouring leftover meatloaf. Finally not being able to take it any longer, Sandra Bennett broke the calm.

"Sylar—" She began but he interrupted her before she finished the statement.

"I go by Michael nowadays." he gave an evil glare to Claire who was already smirking at him. He knew Claire's intentions were to keep calling him Sylar and nothing he said was going to change that. So it thrilled her to the bone that someone else dropped his evil alias without reservation.

"Well then Michael how long to do you intend on being here?

"Actually I have to get back to New York. I just needed to bring Claire here."

"What do you mean? Sandra stole a look at her daughter who was frowning and pushing around her potatoes."

"I really don't want to worry you." The look of concern on his face was completely sincere.

Sandra stared at him confused. Compassion. Consideration of others? This wasn't the killer she was used to and definitely not the one her ex-husband described as the antichrist. She guessed when he wasn't murdering people he did have some civility and by his show at dinner tonight that included table manners.

Undaunted by his dismissal she continued. "I'm a big girl. I can take it."

Sylar pursed his lips in consideration for a full half minute, allowing Claire's cold stare try to eviscerate him, before he answered.

"Okay. As someone who married Noah Bennett, I guess you could take anything."

Sandra smiled in equal parts victory and annoyance.

"Someone has been kidnapping several kids with abilities, they tried to kill Peter, and myself I might add, and for the better part of a week your daughter has been looking for a good excuse to get herself killed." His eyebrow quirked accusingly, as Sandra's incredulous gaze snapped to her shamefaced sinking daughter.

The phone ringing interrupted the impending berating before it began.

"I'll just go get that." Sandra said tersely as she watched Claire give Sylar a sharp dagger stare.

"Hello?"

"Sandra?" The familiar voice questioned like it was a wonderment she answered.

"Yes."

"How are you and Lyle?"

"Fine". Sandra's voice was curt. "What do you want Noah."

"Do you know where Claire is?"

Sandra stared at her fully loaded kitchen table. "At my dinner table."

"What? She's supposed to be in New York!"

"Yes. Well, she's here with a certain individual named _Michael."_ She added emphasis to the name in case her ex husband was too distracted to catch on that the male in question was no suitor.

"You're kidding?"

'Not about this."

"What is _he_ doing there?"

Sandra glanced in Sylar's direction to see his knowing grin and tip his head to her consideration before popping another bite of meatloaf in his mouth.

"Eating meatloaf."

"What?" Noah mind whirred _*was she joking!*_

"I said, eating meatloaf."

Noah was taken aback. Did his wife really just say that psycho was at the table eating dinner with his family? And Claire was there… _**with **_him…?

"_They are going to fuck like bunnies in less than forty-eight hours"_

"Yes." Sandra confirmed like she was speaking to someone with a mental impairment.

"I'm on my way out there."

"Don't bother, he's leaving after dinner."

"With Claire?"

"No." Sandra was now beyond frustrated. "Is this what you called for? To interrogate me so you can spy on Claire?"

"No, I—"

"You what Noah? I think you need to talk to your daughter, but I won't be your launch pad. You need to rebuild that relationship on your own. If Claire wants you to know about her life she'll call and let you know.

"Her life is in danger."

"And thanks to you the most powerful and might I add, dangerous man on earth is protecting her."

"Are you sure that's all he's doing?" Noah posed suspiciously.

"Goodbye Noah."

No sooner than the time it took to hang up and spin around to head back to the table; did she hear the phones insistent trill ringing again. Exasperated Ms. Bennett turned back to the kitchen.

"Noah I told you—!"

"…what…Claire…yes she's here." Sandra's hand shook as listened to the voice on the other end.

"Claire honey, it's for you."

Sylar and Claire gave each other an inexplicable look and she stood and headed to her mother's outstretched hand holding the receiver. Her mother paused handing it over with a rueful tick of the lips before giving her daughter privacy.

Taking a deep breath Claire prayed that it wasn't _that _call.

"Hello…."


	5. The Empath

**Chapter 5-The Empath**

**Soundtrack:**

_**A Perfect Circle-Counting Bodies like Sheep**_

_**Counting Crows-Colorblind**_

_**Marilyn Manson-Tainted Love **_

_**Nine Inch Nails-Closer**_

**Sorry for the delay. This chapter had to be completely rewritten. Please feel free to offer constructive criticism. To make this easier on the mobile reader I used (xxxx) indicate break in the POV, and- 00000 are a break in scene. Next chapter is already written but needs some fine tuning and should be coming in a few days. Now that we get into the meat and potatoes of this little adventure the voice of ****Shenkar**** will make his debut. Please review and Enjoy.**

**0000**

* * *

_**Shenkar:**__** All things are important in time, space, and perspective; but none more important than the things we ignore or overlook. The devil is often in the details. The details often become our devils. To empathize is more than just understanding it is also that which is misunderstood.**_

**0000**

* * *

_Noah Bennet~New York LaGuardia Airport_

Noah hated air travel and he liked the lines in front of the TSA nowadays even less. Terrorist, at least not in the conventional sense, had never been a major concern, but specials with motives were. He had an eye for those too careless to understand they were being watched and this woman was no exception. He chuckled softly to himself. Fortunately this mission served a dual purpose.

Germane Kent: Hoboken, New Jersey, 29 years old

Ability: x-ray vision

Trade: TSA agent and professional thief.

Noah had a flight to Colorado to catch and needed to bag and tag Miss Kent before he left. It was a win-win situation, as long as he found a flight to San Diego before tomorrow. He approached the ID counter and handed over his license to the annoyed portly man on the tiny pub chair. Scanning the area, Noah's eyes relaxed upon seeing the agent in question. This would be an easy mark.

Germane was affable woman, not overweight by any real stretch, yet she had not seemed to have missed many meals either, dark skin, wide toothy smile. She seemed to be the only happy employee on the line as each the other agents wore a standard scowl as each passenger passed through.

Noah arranged his laptop and shoes haphazardly on the belt and bumbled about as though this was his first flight. He was a believable oaf and Agent Kent seemed to be agreeable help.

'Sir, let me clear that for you." Germane grabbed his jacket and placed it into the bin along with his shoes.

"Thank you so much ma'am I –I just don't have any idea what to do. This is my first fight in 11 years." Noah dropped his briefcase and tote on the floor for an added display of his cluelessness. A few passengers behind him in line groaned.

The agent smiled "Well needless to say we've made some changes." She helped him place his retrieved items on the belt.

Noah smiled back, his grin turning slightly sinister as she looked away. This was going to be a little too easy.

**00000**

* * *

**Sylar ~Costa Verde, California**

Sylar sighed deeply and set his composure. He knew what that call meant without even hearing the words, knew what was said. His stomach dropped and twisted in knots and it wasn't long before he heard the gasping sob and the sound of hard plastic shattering on the tiled floor.

Both he and Sandra ran to the kitchen to see a Claire puddle on the floor, sobbing and her breathing hitched.

"Peter he's gone…" a snort and hiccup escaped her lips and Sylar couldn't help the feeling of protectiveness that overwhelmed him. Claire backed into the kitchen island and buried her head into her knees. Sandra began to drop to the floor but Sylar was quicker and without words he grasping Claire's shaking form while smoothing her hair. He rocked a few times cooing softly that it would be okay. Even he didn't believe that.

Sandra looked on. Her awestruck gaze said volumes about the care the reformed killer was bestowing on her daughter. Claire clung to him, holding him tight. "They found Angela this morning…she was murdered." Claire's tortured eyes met his before she buried her face in his strong shoulder body shaking violently.

Ms. Bennett released a whimpered sob for her daughter's agony while Lyle stood dumbfounded over his sister's willingness to be comforted by the man who once tried to kill her.

Sylar settled his chin on the top of her head wrapping her tighter into his embrace.

So this was it. This is what it felt like to really feel loss. He sniffed softly holding back his tears. Peter was gone. His best friend was dead. There would be no more redemption, no more friendship, and no more salvation. He was lost again. For some reason Hiro's words haunted him all over again.

"_You will collect a lot of powers. You will kill many people. You will become strong. The strongest of them all. But in the end, it won't make any difference. We all gather to stop you. You're alone. No one will mourn your death. No one will shed a tear. No one. I wish I could change fate, but you must go on your path._"

Claire's sharp nails clinging into his arm brought him back to world of the living and he looked down at the crown of dark hair. Her sobs were pronounced with a hitching hiccup as she tried to control herself.

Sylar gathered her up and stood, cradling her close to his chest. He gave Sandra an inquiring look and she nodded her head in agreement, arms crossed tightly about her.

Lyle went to his mother's side holding her close. He stared imaginary death rays at Sylar's retreating form as the serial killer mounted the stairs to take his sister to her room.

**xxxxx**

Sylar reached the second door on the left and entered Claire's room. He took in the subtle layout before laying her down gingerly on the bubblegum pink duvet cover. She had stopped shaking but now the room, despite it childlike warmth, felt cold and void.

Life felt cold and void.

Sylar leaned over and brushed her auburn locks from her face and cupped her cheek softly.

"I'm so sorry." His voice sounded small and on the verge of tears and Claire sniffed harshly controlling another sob. Her green eyes rolled to focus on him. She looked so distant and removed. He was at a loss for any soothing words, so he took a long look at her walls before returning his gaze to hers.

"I should go downst— ."

"No— stay here. Claire interrupted softly and placed her hand over his then gripped it loosely. "I need…I don't know…I need… not to be alone right now. So stay." Claire nodded her head leadingly hoping he'd agree from her simple gesture of coercion.

"Claire, I –I can't. I—."

"Please. I don't want to be alone. I just—I just can't stand it right now." She bit her bottom lip nervously.

A long moment passed as Sylar gazed into her emerald eyes, measuring her sincerity. Those words carried a weight that reminded him of the day he spoke them to her. He had no choice. "I'll stay."

"Thank you." she seemed to relax while still appearing guarded. Sylar's eyebrow arched slightly as she reclined to a prone position on the bed with her hand still wrapped around his. He pulled subtly on his collar; suddenly it was way too hot and claustrophobic in this room.

"I—I'll sit over here." He began to lower himself on her desk chair when her frightened "No!" pierced the small space. She chewed her lip uncertainly. "Just lay down."

Sylar battled with his conscious, with quick glances at her face and the empty spot on the bed, before he subsequently settled down behind her, hands clasped between hers. He kept a respectable distance, with a 12 inch gap between their bodies. She sniffed a few times before he noticed her descent into a restless sleep.

Sylar lay quietly in the darkened room thinking. He could help considering the fact that_- Claire invited him to her bed. She was letting him comfort her, letting herself be near him, weak in front of him. Why?_ Other than the stolen kisses at the hospital Claire never let on that she wanted him breathing and walking upon the earth, much less near her.

_And oh god, that kiss… It set his body on fire. He'd never been that aroused or…_ he interrupted his own thoughts—today was not the day to dwell on Claire's softening or her unexpected attraction to him. Today he lost his best friend, his brother.

He now truly understood how Peter felt when he killed Nathan, and it hurt. It hurt like a deep wound that refused to heal. His stomach felt hollow and despite his stolen healing ability his head pounded with a vengeance unmatched by any of the head wounds he'd ever received. It wasn't fair. Peter never deserved this.

And then there was Claire. Sylar's eyes drifted closed in silent prayer to whomever up there, saw him fit to be in her presence, much less in her bed. He had a mission now, it was Peter's dying wish and he would not fail his best friend. He had to protect her.

He looked down tenderly at her face arrested in sleep. She looked every bit the angel he always envisioned her to be. Soft cherub like cheeks flushed ever so slightly with a faint shade of pink.

His hand slid along Claire's interlacing their fingers as he moved in close to spoon her. It felt right. Natural. He let a few second pass, waiting for her to wake up and angrily assault him, but it never came. Instead the best sound he could've ever heard issued from her lips—a soft sigh, as she unconsciously snuggled back into his embrace.

Sylar's mind and pulse raced, each trying to outpace the other; ambivalent on which one would give out first. Claire was always full of surprises but the fact that she trusted him enough to have him in her bed; enough to let him touch her seemed to outdo any previous revelation.

His skin tingled with an extraordinary hum that signaled that his clairsentience had kicked in.

Like a blur, the past four years for her, flashed before him. Each moment, every memory strongly imprinted on his conscious mind, punctuated with a strong emotions.

_Waking up from her first reset on a morgue table, Y-incision, down her front, scared out her mind._

_Her foot to the floor of an accelerator as she slammed a nice car and a boy into a brick wall, her anger and rage directed at him in such a strong and personal way._

_Claire's heart hammering desperately in her chest as she ran from him in a locker room the way Sylar looked to her was monstrous and inhuman._

_Claire looking at Peter contemplatively the day after he saved her life. Her hero. Cute and passionate, and brave. Wondering if he had a girlfriend back home._

_Finding her real biological mother in a trailer and realizing how alike they looked and how much knowing her mom was a "freakshow' like her was comforting._

_Realizing Nathan the politician was her father and her hero and crush Peter was her uncle. She was little heartbroken. Soon after finding out he was dead, killed by Sylar. Pulling the glass shank from his "off switch" and watching him restore, grateful he had her ability to heal._

_The almost explosion at Kirby Plaza and how scared she was for Peter and Nathan._

_Peter's unknown whereabouts and him missing for months_

_Her fear when Sylar finally found her in Costa Verde and took her ability on her coffee table, and the echo of his voice "how do we make love stay." _

_Dying, really dying during the eclipse, the pain and the absence of her father as she lay on her death bed. Her last breath as her mother sobbed uncontrollably cursing Noah's name._

_Meredith burning to death in the old company building and Claire helplessly looking on, hating him with every fiber of her being for taking her mother away. Joy that the fire also marked his demise. Concern that an eternity in solitude was now a guarantee. She'd never felt so free and sad at the same time._

_Being captured by Danko's men and waking up to her 'free pass.' Only to ruin it hours later to release those held captive on a crash landed plane. Her longing to make a difference, not just be the damsel, wanting to be a real hero. _

_Hating her dad for all his lies and his preoccupation with the company's work, even at the risk of losing those who cared for him, but still loving him at the same time._

_She and Nathan in Mexico, bonding and getting to know each other and Claire drinking a group of college guys under the table to defend his honor and make back their money. Jovial at the thought of herself as a hustler, and loving the experience because it was with her father._

_Sylar holding her in the Stanton his echo of "maybe you'll even love me" and her obvious disgust and repulsion at the thought._

_Watching the pyre of "Sylar" burning with several others watching on, each face twisted in relief. And her returning thought of how she would now truly be alone into eternity. He was really gone this time. _

_Hugging "Nathan," loving him as her father._

_Nathan's wake Claire slicing lemons in a kitchen talking to Peter about how it felt to lose him. It felt hollow and overdue. Pain for Peter and his need for vengeance to cover the grief._

_A stolen kiss in an abandoned classroom, Claire's hatred, revulsion, and hints of lust as his tongue slid past her unwilling lips._

_Meeting Peter at a diner in New York for lunch, halfway through Sylar walked in to join. Claire experiencing one of the most uncomfortable hours of her life as she made small talk with Peter as Sylar sat only feet away laughing and joking like he was somehow— family. Feeling like she was trapped in parallel universe, and scared to death that Sylar's tame act was just that, and he would kill them all starting with Peter as soon as he got the chance._

_Noah Bennet calling her to tell her that Sylar has been "tamed", yet not to overestimate his control of the hunger._

_Feeling betrayed by her dad and Peter for siding with Sylar even after everything he did to her._

_An almost one night stand with some fame-whore guy named Mark, and his attempts to get famous telling the world he "slept with the freak", Claire's momentary thought of what Peter and Nathan would think. Deciding she didn't care what Peter though much anymore. If he could forgive Sylar then this was a minor indiscretion at best. She still felt cheap and even though they never passed third base, she still felt like a slut._

_Her last conversation with Peter about how he wouldn't hear from her for a while because she was going underground. An earshot of Sylar in the background asking what he and Emma wanted from the Hunan Garden. Her harsh "he's there—with you." Peter's "Claire he's my roommate." Claire hanging up in disgust._

_Angela's haunting words; I'm afraid for the world Claire. The future cannot be undone yet I am compelled to shape it in your favor. _

_Claire looked confused, "what are you talking about? _

_Angela smiled sadly at her granddaughter, "This morning Matt Parkman Jr. was kidnapped. He is the first of many that will be. You must rescue him. Claire, you and Sylar are the only ones—" _

"_No way. Anyone but him." Claire shook her head defiantly. _

"_You must. The world depends on it". _

_Claire countered, "what about Peter?" _

"_No! He cannot and will not be involved!"_

_Claire stared at her with eyes wide "why, what happens?"_

_Angela's features softened "the tapestry must be revealed and you my dear grandchild are the most important thread._

"_What the hell does that mean?"_

"_It means that fate is that which we make."_

"_That doesn't even make any sense!" _

"_It will soon."_

_The beep of machines as Peter lay motionless in the hospital, pale and unresponsive. Blaming herself for leaving the city, thinking she could have somehow prevented it. Blaming Sylar for leaving him even at her request, it was illogical, but her emotions needed a villain._

Sylar pulled back. So Claire had indeed _been holding out_ on him. The memory flashes continued to race in his brain as he tried to make sense of them. The manner of how he, Claire and Peter met that chilly day in November seemed to be entrenched in his mind. He'd almost forgotten how they all encountered each other; it was violent and selfish on his part, selfless and heroic on Peter's. Peter saved Claire that day and conceivably saved him too. It was fate…but perhaps more of a cosmic joke.

What troubled him the most was the fact that her most vivid memories seemed to be of the moments when the people she cared for most, died. Meredith and Nathan seemed to star in that little slide show of sorts, but it seemed she blamed him somehow for Peter's death too. Then there was Angela's cryptic message. It unnerved him how insistent she was on Peter's non-involvement. Had she known of his demise in this little endeavor, or just her own? Did any of that matter? Peter was gone now and he was in bed with the man's niece, the woman he terrorized and now the woman he swore he would protect.

Sylar ran his fingers lightly through her hair. He hated the brunette hair. It wasn't her. Claire Bennet was made for sun kissed blonde tresses that complimented her golden complexion and jade eyes. Her long dirty blonde lashes lay softly on her face; his finger skimmed the delicate bone structure of her cheekbones and perfect curves of her nose. Then his thumb went rouge and slid along the perfect bow of her flawless bottom lip. He held it there for more time than it was prudent before pulling away. It pleased him way too much that she was still a virgin. It wasn't like she'd let him be the first. But damn the challenge of not only getting her for eternity, but being her only sexual experience made his cock stir into attention. Groaning at his inability to control his biological response when it came to her, he grabbed the pillow underneath his head and tucked it between their hips.

A quick glance at her clock alerted him to the fact that it was after midnight. Sighing deeply he fell back into the soft covers and let his mind drift to naming each component in a Rolex watch.

**00000**

* * *

**Kurt**

Kurt leaned back in the squeaky chair trying to contain his boredom. This was too easy a game to play, especially when you knew the outcome.

Noah Bennet was the perfect patsy and Sylar the perfect excuse. He glanced at his "friends" still suspended in time. Ahhhh. It was all too perfect. Soon all his careful planning would come to realization.

He flicked a fleeting look to the battered and bruised man in the corner. His mind was gone but his ability was invaluable. Besides he would not be a concern to his plans much longer. His usefulness was coming to a fast end.

Kurt congratulated himself on his foresight to destroy anyone who would interfere. They were all out of the way now. Although he hated removing Peter from the equation it had to be done.

Now it was all up to Noah to be himself and destroy what would've been the last barrier. Bennet was crucial and would be the catalyst to the ultimate moment of all his preparation. He leaned back even further in the chair and looked out the window of the dingy shop reading the sign in reverse. A sinister smile closed his lips. Gray & Sons indeed.

**00000**

* * *

**Noah **

Noah reclined his seat slightly and removed his glasses. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed deeply in exhaustion, the purpose of his 13 hour flight returning full force.

Claire…and Sylar.

He had honestly considered putting a spike in her head until he figured out a way to kill Sylar once and for all. But the thought of killing his own daughter, however temporarily, put a bitter taste in his mouth.

How dark had he gone in his obsession-like pursuit of the killer? Was he so far gone, that he was willing to seriously injure those he loved to rid the world of that particular evil?

When did it stop and who did it stop with?

And then there was Kurt. What did that asshole hope to accomplish by telling him about Sylar and Claire, and how could he possibly know.

Noah knew the man had an ability but he had kept it pretty close to the cuff, as far as exposing what it was. Maybe he was a precog.

Tired of wrestling with the whole thing Noah yawned and settled into his thin blue blanket with hopes of trying to catch a few winks. He tossed over twice trying to think of something not vomit inducing. Settling on the day he watched Claire walk for the first time he drifted off with hopes that his nightmare of his daughter and his worst enemy in bed would remain just that…a nightmare.

**00000**

* * *

**Claire **

Claire woke with a start, her heart hammering her chest. When had she fallen asleep?

The room was spinning; disorienting her to a point that made her head hurt, and to top it all off the room was stuffy and uncomfortable. Bringing her palm to her forehead to release the tension she rubbed in circular pattern like she'd seen so many 'normal' people do. It wasn't so much a physical pain; she was immune from that, but an emotional, mental pain. For the first time in a long time she actually feared for her _**own**_ life, Peter her only real confidant was gone, her Grandmother dead and now she felt totally adrift. There was no anchor to keep her grounded or a compass to lead her down the right path.

Claire fought back a sob when she felt something shift behind her and realized she wasn't alone in the bed, hoping it was Mr. Muggles but in some way knowing wasn't, she twisted quickly right. The sight that greeted her was the most bizarre and unnerving sight of her life—Sylar spooning her with a pillow tucked between their hips.

Claire's hand flew to her mouth to cover the audible gasp-like scream. Oh god- she _**was**_ a degenerate. She'd invited him to lay down with her. _**Stupid. Stupid. Stupid**_.

Alarmed, she looked down praying all clothes were on; sighing heavily with relief to realize they were intact.

Of all people it had to be him? He had to see her at her darkest? The universe was officially lame. To be honest, there weren't that many people left to even see her in that weakened state. No thanks to the man in question.

Claire turned to get a better look at him. How often did anyone see him asleep and off guard? She had a feeling it was rare. He looked so…innocent in his sleep. A soft lock of dark hair fell across his eyebrow and she couldn't suppress her slight smirk. Despite all of his evil he was arguably one of more attractive men she'd ever seen; roguishly handsome with that dark hair, full lips and those eyebrows that made her physically quiver.

Claire licked her lips as flashes of a forbidden dream sped through her psyche. It was her dirtiest and most carefully concealed secret, buried way deep in her subconscious. She knew full well how absurd the fantasy was and it sickened her to think how much she wanted to see it come true. Mostly she was repulsed that she enjoyed these thoughts even before Sylar began his road to redemption, and sincerely hoped every time Matt Parkman was around her; he never dug deep enough to pick it up.

Strangely enough, it all started after he took her power. In her nightmares Sylar was always the same; depraved and domineering cutting her open in stripes, repeatedly and faster than she could heal. After three weeks of the same nightly horror, the nightmare took an unexpected turn, manifesting its way into a sick fantasy that always played out the same:

_She ran from him, screaming for help to no avail, but when he caught her he didn't want her ability, or to see her suffer, he wanted her body—sexually. He used his telekinesis to pin her to the nearest wall, he walked up to her slowly, stalking her like prey. He got so close she could feel his breath on her neck and his nose ran the length of it and up side of face making her shiver. His kisses were sinful each more tempting than the last. As dreams often go, there was no real relation of one moment to the next. The dreamscape blurred and before she could properly comprehend the totality of what was happening, she was willingly on her knees in front of him, watching his head roll back in ecstasy, his hand gripping her hair, groaning, just holding back that last shred of restraint…_

Claire sucked in sharp breath to stop herself from going any further, yet it thrilled her even now. She looked down at him again and her body flushed. She felt compelled to just get it over with. Move the pillow, unbutton his pants and get herself off. Hell what was stopping her? She didn't give a damn about much right now. Her heart hurt with a hollow loneliness that might as well be filled with meaningless sex. A mere make-out session worked last time with that Mark guy, but she had felt so despicable when it was over. It pointed out her inability to feel pain in a real and very tangible sense. When she kicked him out that night she realized that there had been no enjoyment, only shame.

Claire cocked her head broodingly; it was a sad day when the thought of sex with Sylar sounded like an eagerly awaited occurrence. But then again she needed to drown her sorrows and Sylar had a pool of his own deep enough to drown them both in.

What difference would one more passenger on his road to hell matter anyway? Hell was actually a welcome destination at this point. Maybe she could get him to halt her ability and kill her once and for all when it was all over. Claire leaned back a little and snorted at her suicidal turn in her thoughts. Undeterred by her dark reflections, her hand ghosted over his eyebrows before she pulled back like it burned.

_**What the hell am I thinking? This is Sylar for godsakes! Sylar! Remember the guy who killed your mother and father, opened your head and fingered your brain and killed Peter at least twice. You know the psychopath! Are you crazy? Are you really that desperate? **_

_**Yes!**_

The thought that soon he would be all she'd have left, flashed in her mind for the hundredth time, in the end it would be only them. Her body shuddered noticeably as she thought of Peter again. Of Angela…

In response to her motion Sylar stirred, nuzzling closer, causing to Claire yelp loudly in surprise.

* * *

****####******

* * *

**

Sorry this took so long but I'm a perfectionist. I'm still not sure if I'm completely satisfied but I guess you guys will be the judge of that. Next chapter is coming soon; it's already written and just needs tweaks. I'll post as soon as possible. Thank you for reading. Please review I'm fed from your comments. ~Niece ;-)


	6. The Naked Time

**Soundtrack:**

_**David Gray-My Oh My**_

_**Santana f. (Rob Thomas-) Put Your Lights On**_

_**Alicia Keys-Unthinkable**_

_**Hoobastank-Inside of You**_

**I wanted to split this chapter. I just didn't think 6000 word chapter would be wise. But I think you guys will forgive me.**__**Thanks for all the feedback so far. I love you guys. **

**Dedicated to my muse ***_**you know who you are.**_

**Again**_**, xxxx means a break in the POV, and- 00000 are a break in scene. **_**This one is all Claire and Sylar no one else will cut into this chapter. I tried my best to separate POV and trust me; it was hard to separate their thoughts for this particular chapter. So sorry in advance if you stumble on a little mind hopping. Rated M for a real, good reason. Enjoy and Review.**

**0000**

_**Claire Bennet and Sylar ~Costa Verde, California **_

Sylar awoke full of alarm; the sound of a feminine shriek jerking him from his disturbing restless slumber. Quicker than a speedster he pushed Claire behind him, and faced the door. His hands were alight with blue arcs of electricity as it coursed like veins through his palms. His stance aggressive and poised to ready to defend or attack.

The glow radiating from his hands seemed to entrance; pulling her in with its eerie dominion. Seconds ticked past while she sat dumbstruck; the air and sound seemingly sucked out of the room as her worst nightmare played out in live action.

_Sylar_ was back. Not the collected, relaxed man she'd been partnered with for the past several days, but the depraved one with terrifying powers and evil intentions.

Claire gazed jadedly at him, ready to accept her fate. She was already at her lowest point what more did she have to lose? Her only regret was the fact that she'd let her guard down and allowed Sylar have a diminutive level of her trust.

As her eyes rose to her would-be executioner, she noticed his expression lacked that wicked determined glint that was his trademark, and instead held a different emotion altogether…_worry_.

_Had he pushed her behind him?_

Like slow motion sound returned to her ears, throbbing with each beat of her hyperactive heart. She gripped his shoulder tightly as his intent finally struck her; _he was trying to defend her_.

"It's okay. It's only me." her voice was hollow still stunned by the immediate turn of events.

Sylar twisted to look at her in the dimly lit room and Claire hoped he didn't detect the dissipating panic in her expression.

He cocked his head speculatively; sure her distress was due to the fact that he hadn't used that power in quite a while. She'd probably forgotten he had it.

After a moment of getting over the shock her empty stare twisted into aggravation. Aggravation at herself mostly, but also at Sylar for setting such a bad precedent for himself that it made it almost impossible to believe he could change.

Yet again her brain spiraled into the catch twenty-two that was a constant between them. She needed to trust him, but she couldn't trust him—not fully. It was too dangerous.

_Wasn't it?_

**xxxx**

Sylar simply watched her in drowsy confusion.

"What the hell Claire?" he shirked off her impeding hand that still rested on his shoulder, with a high level of irritation.

Holding up his watch to get the time, his scowl only grew. It was only 3am.

He growled, falling back to the bed heavily. Not even evolved humans could be expected to be perky at this hour.

"Sorry…" her small voice echoed then paused. She looked around the room searchingly; possibly looking for a good excuse for her sudden yelp. "…Y-you snored. It scared me a little."

Sylar's vision shook with the lie. He raised one thick brow and could tell from the way she stared down the movement that it fascinated her. Nonetheless she maintained that exasperated expression that clearly indicated she was nowhere near impressed that he was the human lie detector.

After a tense ten second standoff Claire's begrudging tone admitted, "Okay you didn't snore."

"Thank you." He replied crisply, settling his hands across his chest in the hopes of getting back to sleep.

"But you do drool." She stated snidely as a mocking smile split her face.

There was no blurred vision and Sylar humorlessly scoffed at himself, wishing he could control the involuntary functions he did in his sleep. He avoided her piercing stare and looked to the ceiling hopeful the subject would be dropped so they could go back to bed.

"Don't worry; it makes you look less like a boogeyman if you have flaws." Claire stated humorously. Sylar gave her wry smirk as his eyebrows relaxed. The action made her chuckle softly.

Confused by her sudden humor, he scowled at that her quiet laughter turned into a bubbly giggle that sounded as though she was being tickled.

His frown grew and she snorted lightly, gasped, and with an undignified, untamed reaction, loud peals of laughter erupted from her tiny body. His eyes widened in a silent _'oookayyy'_ as her lightheartedness filled the room. Smiling despite himself, he watched the cheerleader go complete airhead right before his very eyes.

She carried on for at least a minute, teetering and breathing heavily before the giggles gave out to full-blown fit, complete with panting and tears.

Sylar was well acquainted with the expression that sometimes one must laugh to keep from crying, but Claire seemed to be experiencing a lifetime bout of that sentiment.

"Oh god-oh-my-god, Sylar, oh— my—god!" Claire gasped deeply trying to catch her runaway breath.

He smirked suggestively, totally aware that the manner of which her voice rang through the room that it could've easily have been mistaken for something other than nervous laughter.

The smile stayed on his face, and his mind drifted to the sinful thoughts he had before he fell asleep and he fervently wished her previous utterances _**were **_issued in the throes of passion, as she sat perched steadily across his lap, bobbing up and down.

**xxxx**

As she giggled Claire wondered how many times Sylar's dubious look of disgust tickled Peter. She chuckled harder as she thought about her uncle's laugher when he and Sylar met her at the diner; the sound was easy and good natured filling the restaurant with accidental amusement as fellow patron couldn't help but smile.

She reflected on Peter's expressive face, that crooked smile and fake sympathetic nod while Sylar lamented Claire's evil thoughts at his unexpected presence.

That sparkle in his eye when he was right. That slightly cocky air he had lately. The way he loved her, pure and honestly with no secrets.

Then her laughter died.

She'd never see that again

It was the healthiest relationship she had with anyone. And now she would have bury him at 34. Sure she'd known she'd be the one to do it but, figured she'd have at least 50 more years. This hurt more than Nathan or Meredith's deaths did, this one was personal.

**xxxx**

Sylar was so distracted by his provocative thoughts he completely missed the subtle movements that positioned her facing him.

Claire's warm breath floated on his face and he was pleasantly surprised at how good her waking breath smelled. Wiping the smirk off his lips, he finally noticed the look of sadness on her delicate features.

"How soon do you think we need to go back?" Claire's eyes grew glassy with unexpected tears yet she continued. "Being I'm the last Petrelli…" she paused as her chest swelled uncomfortably with air and her throat constricted.

"I probably need to make the arrangements. Emma can't… by herself…" The tears that threatened to fall moments before finally rolled down her cheeks, completely defeating the sprite-like quality of her gorgeous face.

Sylar cocked his head sympathetically. Her question was unexpected and threw ice water on his lustful thoughts.

"We can go back tomorrow if you want." He replied softly brushing her face with his thumb. She nodded sadly her previous merriment instantly gone.

"Okay." He said more to himself than to her as his fingers slipped into her hair. Her eyes gleamed in the soft light and he resisted the urge to kiss her forehead. The desire was foreign and yet still familiar. It felt like a Nathan impulse and Sylar shuddered slightly in repulsion.

"You need to sleep." His voice now matched the personality he was desperate to suppress, it sounded paternal and inadvertently struck him _again_ how special Claire was to him.

It was strange really, but what about them wasn't? She'd been his victim, the sole survivor of his murderous killing spree, his "niece", his "daughter" and someday he hoped she'd be his partner into infinity.

A small smile developed as he realized the fact that Claire Bennet had been every important woman, sans a mother, to him.

She was his "sacred female."

But no matter what she decided to be to him in the future and on into eternity, he would be her protector.

**xxxx**

Claire looked up at his dark, distracted eyes. His body had tensed like he was holding something back and she was oddly disappointed. Her gaze traveled the length of his long handsome face then down his body until she reached the point where the pillow separated them. They were so close she could feel the heat of his body. Her earlier arousal returned full force, clouding her brain in a lustful haze.

She really didn't want to sleep. Sleep brought dreams, bad dreams; nightmares of a reality that was hard enough to wake up to daily.

Why sleep when there was a perfect distraction for her pain.

"I don't want to sleep." Her voice was low and sultry and her dramatic gaze traveled back up to his lips.

"Well I need to." Sylar's voice dropped an octave as he caught the meaning of her statement. His gaze quickly diverted from hers and began staring at a purple teddy bear in the corner, trying to avoid the building heat in her eyes.

"Really? I thought you might prefer to do something else." Claire purred leaning in closer bringing their faces mere inches apart.

Sylar's eyebrow shot to his hairline in surprise, his mouth agape. "W-what did you… um… have in mind?" he sounded like a fifteen year old virgin, and Claire chuckled inwardly.

The thought of her coming on to _him_ probably never crossed his mind. Or maybe it was because he was all talk, but when it came time to actually do those forbidden things he'd promised, he really wasn't ready.

A dark smile traversed her lips. "I have a few ideas."

Claire's eyes flickered again to the pillow separating their lower halves, before returning her gaze to his darkening eyes. "Get rid of it."

Sylar inhaled sharply before a telekinetic force flicked the pillow out of the way faster than she had time to comprehend.

She began to stare into his chocolate pools for a long moment, noticing a very distinct emotion in them, they were so…_scared_.

She'd never thought he'd be scared of kissing her.

Excited, Domineering, Imposing…yes, but _scared_ never crossed her mind. A small smile lifted the corner of Claire's mouth as she set her resolve. She was going to kiss him whether he wanted her to or not. Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, she leaned in towards him.

His mouth felt good and his lips were softer than any man's had a right to be. Her petite fingers wrapped around his ears cradling his face as the kiss deepened; their tongues dueling each other for dominance before he relented. Tiny hands explored his body like they'd done in the hospital just the day before, and a deep shutter racked his form.

He was definitely enjoying it.

Claire smiled against his mouth, wondering if the skills Sylar exhibited with his hands weren't just limited to the macabre.

Pulling back to get a good look at him, she noticed, he looked just like he did her dreams, right before she would be on her knees

…_**lustful and harsh. Eyes hooded with the most erotic intentions, lips swollen with tousled dark tresses, whispering darkly how she was going to 'blow him and love every second of it' **_

_Oh god. _

She trembled as a sharp throb heated her core with a impulsive craving to know if that wasn't the only aspect her dreams had predicted correctly. The kiss deepened and she vaguely wondered if her subconscious was accurate when it foresaw what his cum tasted like too.

She pulled back again and licked her swollen lips before errant eyes focused on his closed ones.

**xxxx**

Several of Sylar's abilities went haywire as he felt it, then saw it. Her immediate desire was to…_oh god help him_.

Claire Bennet wanted to have his cock in her mouth.

He struggled for breath and tried to control the shaking of his body as Claire's lips moved to attack his neck. She licked the skin sucking softly as her hand roamed freely.

In that moment, it was almost too much and he wasn't sure if it was the motions of her body, her erratic lustful thoughts or the fact that this was all too good to be true. Either way he felt he should stop this before it got beyond his control.

If he made love to her there was no going back for either of them. He wouldn't give her up and would never be satisfied with a one night stand. She would be his forever, or not at all.

"Claire please, we shouldn't…" but he stopped short in his resistance as the pressure and speed to which she sucked on his neck increased.

"Please, Claire." The words lost meaning before they left his mouth. that little minx was a pure tease. He felt the slick wetness of her tongue as it skimmed his throat and his brain went on vacation. He didn't know what he was asking for anymore and honestly didn't know which way was up.

Sylar felt the increasing hum of arousal take over his senses, the situation speeding outside his control; it was a foreign concept to say the least. But he really didn't give a damn as long as she kept touching him like this.

The Gabriel side of him couldn't help but be amazed that someone as gorgeous as Claire was willingly making out with him, touching him…on a bed…in her room. It was almost surreal and if he hadn't been there he would have never believed it.

Being with her was like this, was like being in some sort of alternate dimension. She made him forget everything; he forgot that her mother was in the next room, forgot about Peter, forgot about everything but the feeling of her body against his. He wondered if that was why she was doing this…to forget. But in that instant he could care less about her motives. Not when her hands were all over him and caressing him like he always dreamed.

**xxxx**

Sylar's fingers slid down to her jean covered bottom lowering her slightly to align their sexes; which added an odd angle to their kissing position. They looked an impossible pair with a foot of height difference between them. His dark rich brown locks, pale skin and densely hairy body was in sharp contrast against her golden tan and blonde— well brunette tresses. They were complete opposites a kind of darkness and light, like an eclipse. How ironic.

Would they even be a pair in the real world, outside their circumstances? Claire repressed a dark chuckle and pulled his head down and resumed the liplock, deepening the extents to which her tongue explored his mouth.

Claire's body rubbed against Sylar's feverously forcing a deep groan from him while causing her to smile against his lips. Deciding to play a little game of hard to get, she broke the kiss determinedly.

Taking a long look at her "boogeyman", she noticed Sylar looked drugged; dark lashes half mast above stubble covered cheeks. His expression was pure lust even more intense than her fantasies and the thought made Claire flush and soak her panties anew.

Her hand ghosted over his chest tracing the curve of muscle while watching him struggle, his Adam's apple bobbing noticeably in his fight for control before he shuttered. Her light touch proceeded down his body causing new quake as her fingers found the hem of his shirt and slid softly inside.

**xxxx**

Her hand on his stomach made his almost lose it. Her touch was meant to tease and he could tell by the flicker of amusement in her eyes— she knew it was working.

Sylar decided the only resolution to this form of torture was a counter attack. He moved in close, tracing his nose from her ear down to her collarbone.

She shivered.

He caught a flash of a dreamlike thought of him doing this very thing to her. However, that incident took place against the same living room wall he pinned her to the day he took her ability.

…_She was plastered to the wall struggling to move as he fondled her breasts. She cried out angrily yet he continued and caressed her neck with his nose. His hot breath making her shiver_…

His cock stirred. Her fantasies were almost better than his…almost.

"Claire have you been dreaming of me?" Sylar's voice vibrated in her ear, making her squirm as she resisted the obvious ache in her loins. His fingers skimmed her sternum drawing an invisible path down her body.

Long, slender fingers traced the outline of the top of her bra, peeking out the top of her shirt. Absorbing its history, his eyes darkened noticeably as he glanced up at her flushed face. Sylar couldn't wait to know what images her panties would elicit.

…_Speaking of…_

His hand roamed to the curve of her generous backside. For such a small girl she had a butt that made men want to beg, and he was no exception. Wandering hands slid into the waistband of her jeans maneuvering them so he could palm her supple cheeks, jiggling them heartily. She gasped, pink swollen lips parted in surprise and he returned his attention to her mouth.

Claire gasped as his body rubbed flush against hers allowing his covered erection to phantom over her stomach. His lips were on hers again and she fell into the kiss longingly, nibbling his bottom lip while plundering his mouth with her tongue. He pulled away from her lips, his mouth moving to her neck where he sucked strongly on her flesh.

Any normal girl would have had hickeys for a week with the way his mouth was working sinfully across her skin. Yet, her ability allowed her 'love bites' to heal almost instantaneously.

In some perverse way she wished they would stay. Those subtle blemishes would stand as a physical testament to her inner struggles.

That thought had her gripping his hair to pull him back from the spot he was working on her neck. She quickly reversed their roles and attacked his neck, licking him from the edge of his sharp stubble to the crease in his throat.

She nibbled his earlobe and he groaned with a husky timbre, "I wanted you like this for long time Claire. Wanted you to-_**Oh god**__." _

He talked too much. Claire put her roving hands to good use, sliding them to his denim covered crotch. She observed his expression as he suppressed an outright groan but couldn't stop the flex of his hips. She could definitely feel his erection now, and It felt like a metal pipe softened by the pliable fabric of his jeans. Her fingers skimmed up and down his covered member trying to get a more accurate assessment, before he gasped and stilled her petite hand.

Scenes from her sinful dream continued to flash across her mind and her heart sped up even more.

…_he released the hold on her body and nodded towards his crotch. She dropped down innocently, body trembling, eyes brimming with tears. "You know what to do cheerleader." And Her gaze fell to the crotch of his tight black denim…_

With that notion she licked her lips and caught his eyes. The dark, hungry, look in them made her want to push him to the floor and have her wicked way with him, now. Foreplay be damned.

"I want you." She stated. The words leaving her mouth before she had time to filter.

Sylar sucked in huge breath, losing the concentration to stop her hand, letting it resume its mission of stroking him to a mindless oblivion.

She tightened her grip. He whimpered.

Emboldened by his response Claire's nimble fingers found his zipper and eased them inside—then paused. She was met with flesh not the underwear she expected. Looking up to his face she lost a bit of the lustful courage driving her when his predatory stare seemed to devour her. She didn't dare remove her hand.

She wanted to stroke him like this, it just happened sooner than she thought. She watched his expression grow heavier, his eyes fluttering closed.

Claire's tiny hand resumed its teasing stroke. Deciding to use his own tactics against him she began to whisper lustful words into his ear, letting her tongue swirl the outer shell.

"Did your ability tell you how you made me feel yesterday?" Her hot breath sent a shiver along Sylar's spine and he swallowed hard.

"Did it tell you what I dreamed about? Her hand squeezed around his shaft and he gasped. "Did it tell you how I thought you would feel inside me?" Sylar growled and his hands tightened on her waist and as her lips fastened to the hollow of his neck sucking seductively.

**xxxx**

Sylar's eyes fluttered closed as he fought for control. At a rare loss for words, he watched her lay back on the bed coyly, like she hadn't uttered those maddening words. Shifting to lean over her, he stared deeply into gorgeous emerald eyes. That playful smile on swollen, pouty lips made his heart constrict and the expression on her face, told him that it was possible that she really wanted to go through with this.

But, yet again, his inner Gabriel reared his painfully insecure head. This was too good to be true. Girls like Claire don't give their virginities away to guys like him, and if they did it was only in his dreams.

Pushing his self-doubting thoughts aside, Sylar's mouth dropped to her collarbone to suck that patch of soft skin. His pressure increased to the point that made her release a breathy moan.

Claire's hands were in his hair again, gripping loosely but subtly asking for something she couldn't name. Sylar skimmed down to level his head on her breasts, exquisite nipples pointed through her thin shirt and bra, and if it was possible, he hardened even more.

He gazed longingly up to Claire's face hoping to ask for permission to remove her top, but instead, he found her eyes closed and teeth gritted as though she was in pain.

"Claire?" he halted his desperate exploration of her body in hopes it would get her attention.

It worked.

Claire's eyes flew open with alarm. "What? What's wrong?"

His eyes softened with sudden guilt for allowing this to happen."Nothing, just— are you sure? Because, there's no going back if we do this."

He wanted to kick himself for all of the sudden becoming _Mr. Sensitive_ when Claire had all but laid out the red carpet for him. There was a long pause. She said nothing. She barely breathed.

_He blew it!_

Sylar let out a long resigned sigh and pushed off her body. He was definitely going to need a cold shower tonight. Possibly the only kind he'd have for the next century.

"Wait. Where are you going?" Claire lifted herself on her elbows, her eyes frantically trying to focus.

Sylar sat on the far corner off the bed with his elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked. He swallowed hard willing his erection to dissipate to no avail. It was one of the most awkward moments of his life and he hoped he could make it to the restroom with his pride still intact.

He turned slightly, still not facing her, and finally answered her question. "I'm going to the bathroom. Excuse me." He tried to stand, his back still to her when sharp nails bit into his arm. He looked down at the fingers tensely gripping his bicep then to her eyes. They were smoldering and her next words nearly floored him.

"Sylar stop being a sap and fuck me."

The air in room seemed to grow thinner with her raw words. Sylar's eyes slammed closed and his whole body seemed to hum. Then his control snapped.

An unknown force pinned her to the bed violently and her soft "Ummpfhh!" Was the only sound heard as he hovered over her. His eyes were untamed and fierce, and they insinuated a sort of brutal intent yet trembled faintly with an unclear emotion.

She took a shaky breath. "Sylar?"

He leaned back a little, coming out of his daze at the sound of her voice, looking in her eyes again before a telekinetic force ripped her shirt and bra down the middle. She squeaked quietly and his mouth latched onto her nipple causing her to shudder. She suppressed the noises she wanted to make as she remembered that her mom was down the hall. But that was all forgotten when his teeth bit the peak.

There was no pain but a sharp twinge of heat ricocheted down her spine and made her pussy quake sensuously. He continued his rough journey down her body, licking the line of muscles in her abdomen until he approached the top of her jeans, his stubble leaving temporary red scrapes in its wake.

The button popped with an unseen power, unzipped as her jeans slid down forcefully to her knees. She gasped bare chest heaving with anticipation as Sylar gripped the jeans from the ankle and flicked them carelessly to the floor.

Claire tried to shrug off the remaining scraps of her ruined shirt when she realized she was still unable to move and pinned.

It was at that moment she caught a flash of dark hair out of the corner of her eye, as it descended down her body.

Being immobile like this was all too familiar; she now remembered why sex with him was a bad idea in the first place. He was sadist, a killer and completely unpredictable. Struggling against invisible bonds she gritted her teeth wanting to tell him stop when she felt his tongue dip into the center of her quivering flesh. Quick licks making her yelp in pleasure.

_**His mouth was on her. Really on her. Inside her. And when had her underwear come off? **_

He flicked his tongue across her clit with the ease of an expert and Claire did everything in her limited power to suppress her scream. He repeated it several times each more urgently before his mouth closed around the engorged bud and he began to suck.

Tears built behind her eyes as the pleasure built, but she was still trapped. It was kinky yet limiting at the same time and she desperately wanted to move because the intense satisfaction was bordering on torture. He slipped a finger inside her, while still increasing suction on her clit and she moaned darkly.

He smirked.

Two fingers and now the suction turned into soft bites. Claire was in ecstasy overload with no outlet other than her voice and couldn't hold back as an animalistic growl escaped her lips.

Sylar stopped for a moment to catch a glimpse at her face. She was covered in thin sheen of sweat, her face tense, eyes hazy. It was the sexiest sight he'd ever seen. The only thing that could be better would be if she was more interactive, and with that thought he released the paralyzing hold on her body.

**xxxx**

Claire sensed the freedom to squirm ripple down her body and the feeling was exquisite. With the liberty to move she couldn't resist grabbing his hair roughly as the sensations built up her spine. Then it happened so quick she couldn't control her reaction, "Sylar ohmigod!" Her sex clenched so hard it made her legs tremble.

Nothing she ever felt had been that intense. Her body was on fire. No sensation had ever been like that…_ever_. Not even dying. It had to be something he was doing.

Literal stars raced behind her closed eyelids as the white hot pleasure coursed her spine making her fingers tingle. Her insides trembled and her blood boiled then rapidly cooled, the contrasting temperatures causing her to convulse again. It was like the sweetest relief.

Claire lay there content and sighing softly, fighting the drowsiness compelling her to rest. Instead she gazed up at Sylar who was now settled on top of her, he looked so intense she was sure he was either going to kill her or fuck her senseless. But by the feel of his cock pressed between their bodies she presumed the latter.

Sylar caught her hands and began to interlace their fingers with a small smile on his face. He looked as though he wanted to say something but clamped his mouth shut instead. His lips crashed down on hers as he positioned himself at her entrance.

She could taste herself on his tongue and it was so erotic. As he pulled back dark eyes lit with elation she couldn't help but to smile.

Claire readied herself. She knew there wouldn't be any pain, but she was definitely losing something. Her mind drifted momentarily to why she was letting this happen but she shook her head to will away the thoughts.

**xxxx**

There was a brief delay and then Sylar slid in slowly. His breath hitching with each inch he sank. She was so tight, so hot. He shook with the effort of controlling himself. Then he felt her barrier. Resting steadfastly on his elbows, Sylar attempted to calm himself as the buzz of urgency seized his brain.

There was no going back after this, but honestly there was no going back before this particular moment took place either. He and Claire were inevitable.

He pulled back and paused. Then pushed forward quickly. Her face registered the complete penetration with a surprised flinch. He was still for several moments controlling his conflicting personalities as they warred over the way to handle this situation.

Gabriel wanted to make love to her slowly, worshiping her body with his own. While Sylar wanted it hot, dirty and in every position imaginable; figuring they were indestructible and she could definitely take it.

Taking control, he began to slide in and out slowly.

Claire looked everywhere but at him, like she was embarrassed that she'd let him do this. Sylar bowed his head, nostrils flared as he pondered pulling out, leaving and burying himself in a cave for a century or two—but then she moved.

Her eyes locked on his and there was a distinct emotion behind them. It wasn't love, or anything close to that. He wasn't that delusional, but possibly it was—_like_ or maybe she just hated him less. He'd take either one.

After a several minutes of learning the rhythm enough to reciprocate, Claire began to squirm restlessly, like she wanted more control than this particular position afforded.

Sylar's grin grew and without warning he flipped her on top, letting her take the lead. The scene she created was straight from his favorite fantasy and she sat on top of him confused for no more than a second before she took an experimental bounce. His body flexed and his hands tightened on the sheets.

Claire smirked at the power she now had over the big, bad, Sylar.

After only a few thrust she began riding him like an expert. Bouncing hard, making sure to slide all the way up then crash down just as swiftly. Each time she did it Sylar made that tiny gasps that made her feel like a full on sex goddess.

She leaned down bracing her arms behind his head to gain leverage and rode him…hard. His gasps then turned into desperate pants and moans as her hips added wide circles to the bouncing motion she rode him with.

She reveled with her newfound power. But before long, her gloating turned into a desperate need to achieve that climax herself. This position, while fun, didn't allow her raw power that his thrusts created when he had when he was on top.

Sensing her need, Sylar griped her hips and began to piston into her while he sealed her upper half down on his. He began to kiss her again this time soft and slow, and in complete contradiction the actions of his rapidly thrusting cock. It felt so good and she could feel her orgasm approaching as the tightening her lower abdomen increased, but she needed something else. Something she couldn't explain.

Claire pulled back, resuming her upright straddle as she bit her bottom lip nervously. He looked up at her confused slowing the quickening of his hips.

"Tell me when tomorrow comes; I'm not going to regret this." Her hands rested on his chest trailing down to his navel. Sylar tensed his eyes meeting hers for the first time in what seemed like ages.

"I will do everything in my power to make sure you don't." as he said it his heart constricted, he'd do anything for her.

"Okay." she smiled weakly and Sylar grabbed her hips rolling her underneath him. She smiled darkly at the sudden action, and he thrust relentlessly into her.

His thick brows furrowed in concentration and his sensuous mouth hung open just a bit. The expression on his face lit something deep inside her and she grabbed his hair scraping her fingernails along his scalp to pull him down into a deep kiss.

Then she began to quiver uncontrollably her back bowing, as her pussy clenched and her legs turned to jelly for the second time. A dampened cry escaped her lips, as she suddenly remembered her mother was down the hall.

**xxxx**

Sylar pulled away to look her in the eye, watching the play of emotion across her face as she came. His body shook forcefully with restraint and buried his head into the crook of her neck as she convulsed. Her back bowed and her fingers sank into his hair, squeezing him like a vice as her muscles fluttered around his still pounding cock, creating the most delicious vibrations.

He held out for as long as he could before the sensations in his lower back signaled he was fast approaching his peak. The contraction built like a coil wound entirely too tight. All sense seemed to escape and his mental blocks on Gabriel dropped fully, allowing unbidden confession to pass his lips.

"Claire, I love you. I love you so much." He fastened his mouth to hers just as she gasped; whether in astonishment or pleasure he couldn't tell because the world was too busy turning white behind his eyes.

**#~00000~#**

**To my readers and reviewers: Thank you for making it this far. If you thought this post was overly detailed then you're right. But I wanted to capture the awkward, angsty, guilt ridden emotion of what would be present if Claire and Sylar were to really "hook up" under these circumstances. **

**So what do you think so far? I'm more comfortable with this story now. But I've just realized what beast it is. My outline so far could be an entire season of the show. This story is not a short shot with a little PWP, it has a real direction so if you stick with it for the time it takes me to churn it out you will be rewarded…with…um…cheap (-$ free, whatever) entertainment. **

**Love you all. If you like it, don't like it or are just general pursuer of my story let me know— Review.** **It fuels me to finish faster when I think I have deadline with expectant readers eagerly awaiting my return. **


	7. The Enemy Within

**The Enemy Within**

**A/N: I'm glad y'all enjoyed my first real dabble in erotic fiction. It was a labor of love.**

**Since I don't think I really stated it—titles are from Star Trek Original Series episodes. What can I say I'm a Trekie. **

**To the music lovers -the soundtrack listed put me in the mood to write each piece. Sometimes they reflect the tone of a particular scene but more often than not, it's randomness that somehow fits. Thanks for all the feedback.**

**Soundtrack**

**She Will Be Loved-Maroon 5**

**Like A Star-Corinne Bailey Rae**

**Breakeven-The Script**

**0000**

_**Shenker**_

_**Enemies are those opposed to the direction of our chosen path, but when the enemy is internal the lines blur between those whom are in conflict and those who are merely obstructions to forward progress. Often times, individuals become their own worst enemy a constant battle in which the only casualty is oneself. **_

**0000**

Now that the intense passion was gone Claire lay quietly in his embrace. It was awkward yet comfortable at the same time. Sylar's hands traced the curve of her side leisurely as he stared at the ceiling.

Claire's gaze lingered on the tree outside her window. The one she and Nathan hid behind the day he rescued her from Danko's men. A tear left her eyes at that thought.

She had betrayed her father's memory in the worst way. She had become what Nathan had feared most; the reason he began to round people up, citing those with power would find a way to use them for evil.

Guess he was right because here she was cavorting with and basically fucking the enemy, using her immortality as a basis to refrain from outside judgment. Reasoning, _who would care about this moment in 200 years other than herself and Sylar? _

She wasn't so disillusioned to think that he had some power over her. On the contrary, it was her use of their shared nightmare of solitude to get her way. She sniffed sadly withholding tears.

Breaking the silence Sylar turned to face her, interlacing his fingers with her own. She let him, shifting her face from the window to stare at the ceiling.

"Claire I'm sorry." Sylar stated sounding as broken as she was and just this side of tears.

"What for?" Her voice was emotionless and detached. "You got what you wanted…I got…" she stopped without further explanation. A sickening ball of self-pity settled in her gut. _He had all of her now_. Emotionally she was little more than a vegetable ripe for picking. He already had her ability, her parent's lives and now her virginity. Why did he want to taunt her further?

"Why does it always come back to this?" he asked softly, moving to prop his head on his hand.

He knew what she was thinking and not just because of his mind reading ability, but because the same reticent memory floated in his head as well.

_Hovering outside a window holding her, saving her_. _Nathan._

Sylar relived that moment through eyes that weren't his own, experiencing a paternal fear that made him sick to his stomach in more ways than one. Nausea swept through his stomach as a disturbing thought twisted in his mind; he just had sex with his daughter.

Unaware of his inner turmoil she answered his question. "Because you can't change what you did. As much as I want to forget, I can't. Not a day goes by that I don't think about Nathan. About you…and what happened. About the could've beens." She leveled an empty stare at him. "There's nothing normal between you and me, and there never will be."

Claire sniffed back her tears again, her head rolling towards the window once more, as the guilt built full force.

_I just had sex with my father's murderer! I think I'm going to be sick._

Sylar flinched at the intensity of her thoughts. He swallowed hard knowing the words he had in mind needed to be said. "Claire, I know Nathan better than anyone and trust me he loved you." He ran his fingers through a lock of silken brown hair.

"How could he not." Sylar moved to hover over her and stare into her glistening eyes. "But he never cared as deeply about you as you did him. He was just your biological father— a glorified sperm donor."

Claire's head snapped back to stare at him angrily, yet he continued. "And I know despite his many, _**many**_, murderous flaws Noah Bennet loves you a thousand times more than Nathan ever did. At the end of the day he wants the best for you. He's your real father."

A small tortured smile crossed her lips. "Wow, a nice word about my dad, I'm impressed." Sylar shrugged noncommittally, and leaned in to steal a chaste kiss.

When it broke Claire looked down demurely and blushed with a mixture of self pity and shyness. His fingers tangled into her hair as he simply stared at her as though he was trying to memorize every nuance of her face.

"Speaking of your dad, what are you going to tell him?" Sylar asked swiping wisps of stray hair away from her temple as she picked at her nails absently.

Her head snapped to attention."Nothing." She stated sternly, her eyes boring holes into him with sudden intensity.

"Okay." He countered in a blasé tone.

"You won't either." She repositioned herself to stare him boldly in the eye.

Sylar cocked a defiant eyebrow but relented. "Fine."

A noted paused passed once more before he spoke.

"Claire I know you heard me earlier, it wasn't just the heat of the moment. What I said before it's the truth. I do lo—"

Claire sat up quickly and covered his mouth with her hand stopping the word before he repeated it. The action was so swift the sheet covering her breasts fell to her waist, revealing them to his gaze yet again.

His mouth watered.

"Sylar please not now. My head is so messed up." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her lip trembled.

"You don't have to feel it back." His tone was so soft yet husky and it reminded her of Peter somehow.

"Sylar, please." She sounded so pitiful and an unwanted whimper escaped as the tears returned. Thoughts of Peter swirled about her head again for the first time in 2 hours. Claire's stomach twisted in anger and sadness as she realized it was a hell of a lot easier to be mad at Sylar for Nathan than face Peter's death head on.

A sob escaped her quivering lips as Sylar looked on, amazed at the wide swings of her fluctuating emotions.

"Oh god, oh my god, Peter. He's gone. He's really gone."She doubled over, from her sitting position, the sheet twisted in a death grip by her neck.

Sylar felt her sorrow. It was a pain, just as intense as his own. He swallowed hard, internalizing his emotions and rubbed her back in soothing circles.

He'd let her have this moment, let her grieve her losses. All of them.

After a minute Claire looked down at him, lip trembling with red rimmed eyes before he moved to wrap her up tightly. Sylar kissed the top of her head tenderly and let her cry against his chest, smothering the sounds of her sobs; and like that they both fell into a deep sleep.

**0000**

The sun shone brightly through the window bathing the room in light. Claire woke blearily to the soft sound of a knock on her bedroom door.

"Claire honey I made pancakes." A pause. "Claire… why is your door locked?" Sandra Bennet's concerned tone increased on her last statement.

Claire blinked rapidly and let her gaze sweep widely around the room, she felt groggy and disoriented, and wondered if this was how it felt to be hung-over.

She pushed up from the position on her stomach to notice she was laying on something or rather someone. She forced herself off quickly and suppressed her startled gasp with a hand over her mouth as the memories came flooding back…Sylar.

**She had sex with Sylar! **

**Really**_** good**_** sex.**

"Claire!" Sandra's voice was insistent now.

"Just a second mom." Her voice shook. **Shit! Shit! SHIT**! This was not happening. Not today.

Claire rose softly from the bed as not to disturb him, chancing a glance at his slumbering face. Sylar sniffed and rolled over snuggling into her pillow. It was somewhat adorable.

Sandra's voice called louder. "Did Sylar leave last night?"

_Shit! _

Claire pulled herself from the pleasant thoughts of the man in her bed and began to search the room for her wayward jeans. Not finding them quickly enough she decided the robe hanging on her door would be more appropriate. Grabbing it she finally answered.

"Uh yeah, he went out. Said he needed to think. I'll be down in a few minutes. I..uh…need a shower."

_And a brain wipe._

"Okay honey. But hurry, breakfast is getting cold." Sandra left the hall and Claire listened intently until she heard the footfalls of her mother's decent. She released a relieved breath and leaned on the door, trying her best not to hyperventilate.

_She had sex with Sylar!_

Claire walked in a daze with shaky legs to her attached bathroom; glad her dad decided to get a home with an attached bathroom in each bedroom. She couldn't possibly be expected to leave her room right now.

Her life was falling apart in a spectacular way and she was sure she was going to have nervous breakdown and it would be better for everyone if she went catatonic in her room. No need for her mother to find her like that in the hall. It would ruin breakfast.

Trembling as she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she frowned at her reflection. Her brown locks were tousled and she had a flush to her body that seemed to state she had been, for lack of a better term, 'freshly fucked'.

She rolled her palms on the sink, kneading it to steady the spinning behind her eyes. Looking down she felt a sticky half dried evidence of their indiscretion and gasped again as her senses came back to her.

_**She had sex with Sylar! Without birth control!**_

Letting out a deep breath of what she hoped was calm; she looked around her small bathroom. It was still decorated same way as it had been two years ago. Pink and purple with an occasional orange accent in random places, it was soothing. Yet not soothing enough to allay the hollow forming in her gut.

She was indestructible but not infertile. _Maybe._ Well honestly she didn't know.

_Oh god. What if she was pregnant?_

After a few moments of teaching herself to breathe again Claire looked around for something to break or throw. Instead she caught sight of the chestnut colored hair dye on the shelf. Beside it was her natural blonde shade she'd bought the same day, _just in case_.

She smiled slightly at the memory. Her most difficult decision on that occasion was whether she could pull off a brunette do. Shaking her head in self-ridicule she grabbed the blonde carton.

Giving herself a long appraising stare in the mirror, Claire looked for…well she didn't know. Clarity. Perhaps. But none came.

All she could say with certainty was that her life was spinning out of control, and what she did with Sylar last night was probably her lowest point. Between losing her uncle and grandmother the world seemed to change. Up was down, Light was dark, and a life with Sylar was…_possible_.

Claire blanched. _She did not just think that. _

Ever since January things had been snowballing to this place; this dark place of questionable situations where morally gray veered closer to black.

Her face rose to the mirror again. The girl staring back was unfamiliar.

That girl looked beautiful but her eyes were dead. They held no sparkle, no zest for life that 'normal' people had, and imagined it was just the understanding that accompanied her immortality.

It was easy to be excited for life when you knew you had just 90 years or less to do it all. But what was it to her? She had forever.

The beautiful girl looking back at her sneered, brunette hair curled attractively around her terry covered shoulders. As she stared it appeared her reflection was detached and it seemed to mock her

Her choices the past seven months were the results of her failures, her inability to protect that which was important. For some odd reason she blamed the brunette in the mirror. This girl hid from the world, failed to defend herself from emotional trauma and allowed Sylar privy to her bed. This girl allowed everyone a pass to crowd her out of her own life.

_When was it her turn to live? _

Well today, was the day.

There was no better time to reclaim her life, and that would start with returning to her roots, literally. And maybe while she was at it, she could develop anger at herself for sleeping with Sylar, instead of this suffocating self pity.

**0000**

Sylar woke in the best mood of his life.

He glanced around the space to confirm that the hallucination he had last night, was any but. He was indeed in Claire's bedroom. Naked. A self satisfied smirk crossed his lips as thoughts of Claire saturated his thoughts. He honestly never thought he'd ever get her, at least not willingly and as of late not at all. But for some strange reason it seemed they were being pulled together by a force neither could control.

Not that he minded.

The sound of rushing water filled his ears and he turned down the volume of the sound in his head.

Was it possible his luck would be extended and he would get a repeat of last night in her shower?

He took a lust filled breath and began to rise from the bed...

However his thoughts were doused immediately as he picked up on a voice he'd know a million miles away...

Noah Bennet was downstairs and from the sound of it, his presence was less than welcome by his former wife.

**xxxx**

"Look I know she's having rough time and Sylar helped, but now it's time for him to go." Noah Bennet stated as he took off his glasses to clean a nonexistent smudge.

"Well too bad you didn't get the pleasure of kicking him out, because he left last night." Sandra Bennet crossed her arms in defiance, standing in front of the staircase in overt obstruction.

"How do you know?" Noah tried to calm the anger in his tone, but the thought that Sylar could still be in this house with his little girl made his body tremble with anger.

"Claire told me he left, said he needed to think." Sandra stance didn't give an inch.

"Hhmmm." Noah's introspective mutter only seemed to anger his exasperated ex-wife.

"Noah how can you distrust him so much, yet let him be around Claire?" her tone was accusatory and he completely understood her anger given his role in the current situation.

"I did what was best for her at the time."

Sandra narrowed her eyes to tiny slits. That argument died years ago with her. "None of that matters to her. What's best for Claire is the truth and for you to be her father for once. Don't you see Noah, your lies have alienated her to the point that she rather be comforted by _that_ man than be in your presence."

"What do you mean _comforted_?" Noah rumbled as he looked at his former spouse speculatively.

_Claire was letting Sylar touch her!_ _If he so much as laid a single finger on her…so help him, that monster would welcome death as a vacation._

"I mean the fact that he held her until she stopped crying yesterday and the frightening reality that she let him." Sandra stalked foreword to level an irate gaze on him.

Noah eyebrow shot to the edge of his former hairline. "That's all he did? _Right_?"He prodded.

"Noah do you really think so little of her?"

"No I just don't trust Sylar. He's not above forcing people to do his will."

"Well that makes two of you."

"Sandra."

"Don't Sandra me. You hate him for being exactly what you are. At least he's trying to change.

What are you doing to be a better person?"

"I can't do this today. Where's Claire?" Noah stared at his ex-wife helplessly, pinching the bridge of his nose. The action was becoming an annoying habit.

"In the shower." Sandra stated apathetically moving away from the stairwell, arms still crossed in front of her.

Noah brushed passed his former wife with an apologetic look, as he mounted the stairs. If Claire was softening towards that monster, that just wouldn't do. Now with Peter out of the way Sylar had no more allies, and neutralizing him would be met with less resistance. Today he would end this saga and luckily he still had 24 hours to spare.

**0000**

Sylar moved quickly, hoping to avoid the really bad scene that would inevitably unfold if Noah found him nude in Claire's bed with her tattered clothing strewn across the room. He searched the floor for his clothes, dressing in record time. As he sat to pull on his shoes he spotted the scraps of material formerly known as her bra and top.

Cleaning as best he could, he disintegrated her torn shirt and bra while telekinetically making her bed. One more check of the room revealed he missed her panties. Smirking to himself he tucked the slip of black cotton into his pocket.

_Okay he was a little nostalgic, so sue him. _

If Claire knew, she would call him a pervert. But after the show she put on last night who could blame him when it came to her. She was a full sex goddess. And if he wasn't already obsessed with her— the previous night reinforced that fact.

The way she rode him, those moans and the face she made when she came, were indelibly rooted in his brain.

Sylar started to swell again as the memories washed over him. He had to get out of the room, because it was so not helping. It smelled like sex and the perfumed scent of some exotic fruit coming from the bathroom.

His mind drifted again to his initial waking thoughts. Claire was in the shower, naked and wet. He inhaled heavily to settle the rapid beat of his heart. Visions of Claire plastered against a tiled wall, legs wrapped around him as he thrust into her with abandon— it was an experience he wanted badly. But it would have to wait.

Opening the window he gave the room and appraising stare. This place would live in infamy in his mind. It was the place where he gave himself to Claire Bennet without reservations. The ball was totally in her court now.

**0000**

**A/N: for anyone wondering about Sylar's mindreading ability**_**, *spoiler alert for non Season 4 watchers***_

**Sylar gained Matt Parkman's ability to read minds sometime in or after **_**Jump, Push, Fall**_**. I don't know why the show never displayed this ability in future episodes but whatever. The end of the series left a lot of holes and unanswered questions. So from this point forward Sylar can read minds, that with clairsentience and empathy he's pretty attuned to most people. **


	8. What Little Girls are Made Of

**Chapter 8-What Little Girls are Made Of**

**This chapter was unplanned but necessary. I started writing like a mad fiend, and the result is an enormous timeline and insane plot twists. Upon realizing the glide path I came to the conclusion that I was missing background information to explain some things. So now, much like the show I rely on the flashback to fill in the blanks. **

**Enjoy. Chapter 9 will be up soon. **

_Shenkar: Memories are the unfinished bridges that link the paths of our past, present and future. Each bridge contains the connections linking each momentous tower to the next. Yet is not the completion of the bridge one seeks, but the safe passage to the other side. As we continue our journey of the human experience we come to the realization that our bridges are made to defy the very laws of nature, and common belief. Out bridges become that which we are made of._

**How it was…and how it never can be**

_**2006 Nationals Cheerleading Competition**_

_**Sheraton Hotel 7th Ave / 53rd Street New York, New York**_

**(April 15, 2006 –just prior to the events of **_**6 Months Ago**_**)**

Claire Bennet tapped her finger absently over her mouse. The noise of the city was awash with sirens, traffic and a thousand conversations with words so muddled the echo was deafening.

It was all a little unnerving for a small town girl from Texas; especially one barely basing geometry.

_She wasn't even supposed to be here, and but for the pressing tirade of her best friend Jackie to "allow potential cheerleaders the opportunity to see their future" to Mrs. Reyna, the cheer coach, she wouldn't be. _

_Now academically cleared, the only barrier to her teenage trip of debauchery was her parents. Her mom was ecstatic to "see my baby girl become a cheerleader" and conceded in seconds but she knew what her father would've said. So when she found out he was out of town on business—unreachably so, she began packing with earnest._

A knock on the door pulled her from her busy laptop overflowing with the various windows containing her assignments. Claire slid off the hotel bed with a sigh and meandered to the door. "Em you've gotta take your key with you when you…" she stopped short realizing her visitor was not her temporary roommate after peering through the peephole (which was over six inches too tall).

Claire rolled her eyes. _Jackie._

Opening the door she allowed her best friend passage. The statuesque blonde walked in with all the confidence of a supermodel; her long hair curled on her shoulders and her taller frame was seemingly molded into a tiny skirt and tank top.

She gave Claire a mischievous smile, causing the petite blonde to lift an eyebrow.

"Going somewhere?"

"Yep and so are you." Jackie sassed and settled on the edge of her roommate's bed. Claire pursed her lips and gave her BFF a long stare.

"Uh-un got a ton of homework to do." She moved to her own bed and collected her laptop.

Jackie gave her little appalled gape. "No way are you staying here. We're going out—Samantha style." She gave a little shimmy to her shoulders to emphasize the point.

Claire smiled, laughing lightly at her impulsive friend.

"We can meet some cute guys…"

"We're sixteen!" Claire answered, eyes distractedly glued to the luminescent screen continuing to type away on her history assignment.

"_You're_ sixteen." Jackie countered and Claire rolled her eyes.

"Okay whatever. So…I doubt boys our age, are out and about right now. It _is_ school hours"

"Who said anything about boys our age?" Jackie stated salaciously.

"Jackie!"

"Claire!" Jackie mocked as she moved to inhabit Claire's bed.

Soft golden curls danced slightly on the smaller girl as she shook her head, _No_."Sorry. Besides my mom would kill me."

"C'mon Claire you can't be that juvenile! Don't you want to meet some hot older guys?"

"Not even a lil' bit." Claire deadpanned turning back to her laptop.

"No?"

"No."Claire confirmed.

"Your mom doesn't have to know, I mean we're in New York. We're young, it's a big city, we're hot, blonde and who knows when we'll get this chance again?"

"Jackie!"

"C'monnnn, Claire. Once in a lifetime opportunity." The tall cheerleader taunted.

Claire grunted in surrender."Fine. We'll go. But only for an hour." Her finger rose parentally.

Jackie squealed with delight causing her best friend to roll her eyes, as she pulled her into the bathroom for an impromptu makeover.

**xxxx**

The streets of New York were so cliché-ly packed.

Fifty third and seventh seemed to be at the heart of Manhattan. Shops flanked them on every side, making Claire felt so Sex in the City as she and Jackie ran the streets of New York like they owned them, taking in the stares from men that would never get a hand on their adolescent bodies.

They slipped out a hoity-toity boutique giggling their large bags deceptively carrying only one relatively expensive object, well expensive for two girls from Odessa.

Jackie pushed Claire playfully to which Claire pushed back. They laughed energetically garnering more stares from interested men. Hooking arms the two blondes bounded down the street when a tall Hispanic man with a killer smile began to flank them.

"Hello mamacitas. You chicas down for a good time?"

"Always." Jackie affirmed indecently. After about a block the man had his arm around her as they continued to walk, grins growing wider as they continued to flirt.

Claire looked around nervously, feeling every bit like the third wheel as he began to design plans for Jackie and himself to go out sometime later that night; sans her "little friend".

"Really?" the echo of Jackie's voice and the strangers sexy chuckle echoed out behind her; Claire rolled her eyes with indifferent interest, undaunted by the would be suitor's attention on her companion. They'd walked over two more blocks with their newfound company when Claire decided it was time for her to either leave and go back to the hotel with Jackie kicking and screaming or await the inevitable end of their allure as Jackie got bored with the strangers audacity.

_I mean what was he? Thirty? What kind of grown man hung out with teenagers?_ Claire thought absently. She strolled ahead a few feet, glancing back at the unlikely pair, frowning at the couple and completely oblivious to the world around her. Or more specifically in front of her.

Then it was too late.

A blasting horn, a whiff of steam, screeching tires and the smell of motor oil all coalesced in that second. A metaphorical heartbeat passed where sound disappeared and all her senses were suspended.

_I'm dead._

When the time bubble burst, sound returned in tsunami like rush and she was lying on top of a warm body. Claire looked down at the form underneath her; his dark glasses were her first observation. Pale skin, full pink lips, long face, slightly large nose with side parted dark hair.

He just pulled her out of the street. This guy just saved her life.

This geeky but handsome man was her Hero.

There lay there three…four…now seven long seconds, wordless and panting before he spoke."Ma'am you nearly got hit by a taxi. Are you okay?" his voice quivered slightly but the rich tenor was heady and had it not been for the current situation, sexy. The stranger didn't release his grip on her petite body, their position seemingly intimate.

Claire's mouth opened and shut it several times. Her heart hammered furiously and her ears pounded. She almost died.

He looked at her harder. "Ma'am?"

"Claire ohmigod are you okay?" It was then that world came back to the pair laying on the pavement on the corner of on the busy street. A tall flustered blonde with a trembling voice crouched to the ground trying to extricate the small woman from her saviors form.

Claire sat on the ground letting Jackie hug her as the dark stranger picked himself up.

"Thank you." Claire said weakly. It was then she noticed the small crowd.

The heroic stranger smiled halfheartedly and pushed up his glasses, blinking nervously. "You should get her home." He suggested to the shaking friend of the woman he saved. He offered Claire a parting smile before he began to back away before turning on his heel shakily.

"Wait…" her voice cracked as she tried to control the trembling in her adrenalin fueled limbs, and he turned around. Face awash with an unknown emotion. "What's your name?" she looked up at him like a god, Reverence natural on her youthful face.

"Gabriel." He stated closing the distance to extend his trembling hand that she readily accepted as he pulled her off the pavement and out of her friends embrace. They stood toe to toe now.

_Gabriel. Like the angel. Wow he was tall. Really tall, but then again everyone was compared to her_.

Now upright, Claire dusted her skirt and gave the man before her a small smile. "Claire."

"Nice to meet you Claire."

"C'mon hon, I got get you back to the hotel." Jackie almost squawked, the reality of the dangerous big city finally confirmed unequivocally. Their male companion had clearly taken leave in the commotion.

Gabriel gave her a conciliatory nod and Claire suppressed tears. **She almost died.** She almost died and this man saved her life.

Biting her lip she released a trembling. "Thank you. You saved my life."

"It's nothing. I had to. You didn't see it coming." The last part was whispered as the gravity of the situation, suddenly hit him as well. _He could've died trying to save her._

"Yeah." Claire reaffirmed. They both stood awkwardly in the sidewalk as the crowd dispersed losing interest. There was an odd pull in the air between them and Claire felt the strangest urge to kiss her hero, but Jackie tugged at her again and Claire looked between her and Gabriel as thought she was unable to decide whom to leave with.

"Thank you again."

He nodded in positive reception as she allowed herself to be pulled away. They'd gotten several feet away before Claire turned around to catch a final glimpse of her rescuer.

_She'd never see him again; not in a city of 8 million…completely improbable, and half the country away in Texas, impossible. _That reality pained her heart in a way she couldn't understand, so when she noticed he hadn't moved and was instead watching her leave, their eyes met across the brief space her departure had taken her.

They both took in a sharp breath as their glances solidified.

It was strange because she was sixteen, hormonal irrational, impulsive and still believed in silly things like love at first sight. It was crazy because he had to be at least a thirty-year old man who lived half the country away. But there was something so right about this.

She licked her lips and Gabriel flinched and her breathing hitched again. Trotting back to the tall awkward man she let her eyes meet his; leaving Jackie behind, staring after her like a fool.

They stood only a foot apart, and she found their combined heavy breathing an exhilarating experience. "I know this may sound stupid but can I call you sometime." Claire asked softly her green eyes glistening as they stared into his soft chocolate ones. A nervous smile crossed the man's lips and he nodded cautiously.

Thus began the story of Claire and Gabriel Gray. Until….none of what made this moment possible ever happened.

**00000**

**If this small segment didn't make sense it will by the next chapter. This is just a caveat to tie up some loose ends that will be created on down the line.**


	9. A Private Little War

**A Private Little War**

**Okay I understand the last piece was kinda out there, but it was necessary to help this chapter and the two subsequent chapters. Back to the angst and grief-stricken hookup drama…and the plot.**

**Thank you for all the reviews, comments and reads. This is a labor of love as there is no pay for entertaining the masses with my fluff, but if Geico wants to sponsor me…. *kidding* **

**Soundtrack:**

**Chasing Pavements-Adele **

**Freak on a Leash-Korn **

**I Don't Wanna- Aaliyah**

**Till it Happens to you-Corrine Bailey Rae **

**What Hurts the Most-Rascal Flatts**

**

* * *

****00000**

**September 28, 2046 ~ Auckland, New Zealand**

Hiro walked around the room avoiding the various strings crisscrossing the spacious studio.

Seventeen times and thirty-six years.

His head shook in anger. No matter what he did the war still happened. Ando and his sister died, Peter would still die and so would a billion other people.

He'd engineered the timeline so often he was unsure which one was organic. In a sense he'd changed everything.

Attempt number one was subtle; he simply went back to 1996 and suggested to Noah Bennett that he never allow Claire the opportunity to travel to New York. She and the watchmaker met anyway in almost shocking similarity to their first encounter.

On attempt number five he ensured Meredith Gordon raised Claire as an infant. That change resulted in failure as she and Gabriel still met in during a government roundup in 2009. Thanks to the butterfly wings created by an overzealous Noah Bennett with no "special" daughter to ground him.

In another fix, Claire was raised by the Petrelli's. The vast difference in social circles should've prevented the two from ever coming into contact, yet it still happened and he had to personally intervene so they wouldn't meet in a New York coffee shop. They met anyway three months later at a bus stop.

After twelve attempts he realized that no matter the variables, short of death, Gabriel Gray and Claire— whether a Bennett, Gordon or a Petrelli were destined to meet.

After that discovery he went back and undid all his fixes.

It was then that Hiro realized the only thing that would make Claire and Gabriel mortal enemies would be if he allowed Gabriel's power to manifest unchecked. Many people would die but not as many as if he permitted them to fall in love.

And with that notion he went back to 2006 and alerted 'The Company" of Gabriel's ability, causing the chain reaction of his surveillance. He also deviously released the possibility to Chandra Suresh of Gabriel's potential as 'patient zero' to speed up his understanding of his ability.

In 'the before' Gabriel didn't realize what he could do for years. He'd inadvertently acquired three abilities before he'd even realized what he happened, his empathy trumping his _hunger's_ impatience.

Hiro dropped his head in shame, he'd allowed one of his best friends to become a super-powered serial killer, allowed him to violate the woman, that in another timeline, would become the love of his life, all in the hopes that the war would never happen if they never came together.

But it didn't work. The war happened anyway just five years later than it happened before. He'd bought the world time, but not mercy.

In the timeline he lived in now; Peter died a full decade before he should've, Nathan never became president, hell he never lived past thirty-five, and Hiro never even met his supposed wife Eden (Sarah), who coincidentally was killed by the man who would've introduced them.

The only bright sides to this predicament were the facts that Matt Parkman, Molly Walker and Micah Saunders would survive, while the depravity of Adam Monroe would die at the hand of Arthur Petrelli, who was also deceased. Small mercies.

Every time the casualties grew with greater personal turmoil and more often than not, he wished he didn't remember everything.

But now he had stop something before it began, and maybe this time he could save Peter and Ando. He had a twenty-four hour window; however he was wholly unsure of which butterfly he crushed to mold the current timeline, so to correct the inevitable, Hiro had to go to the source. Gabriel Gray. And with that the aging man closed his eyes and hoped like hell this leap would be the one.

* * *

**000000**

**Present Day –September 2010 -Utah**

The space was bathed in the glow of late summer sunshine but still held the musty stench of a long neglected warehouse.

Sylar's fingers skimmed every surface he could find hoping that any prospective flash could lead to Peter's killer. Rounding the last tarp covered earthmoving tool, he had a sinking feeling that this place held his last lead.

Long fingers brushed along the sides hoping for a signature. Something. Not much came to the surface, other than a few interesting scenes of random men and sordid prostitutes, and drugs; but no real concrete evidence of the individual who dared to disrupt his newfound peaceful existence.

He stood still honing three abilities at once to help him work out this problem logically.

After a few moments with no answers, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

This was a conundrum and a puzzle he was losing the patience to figure out. Vengeance was a strong motivator but it was detrimental to reasonable planning. He no sooner reached the overhead door when a sensation of turbulent air accompanied by a flash of light appeared just over his shoulder. Sylar turned, releasing a deadly dose of electric current before he recognized the individual.

The being avoided the charged flow with the ease of one with foresight.

There was a noted pause as recognition dawned on him and Sylar cocked his head eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Hiro?"

The man bowed in acknowledgement and in an almost unaccented voice echoed "Gabriel."

Sylar blinked twice to the use of his birth name from the Asian hero, taking in the man's appearance. The human time machine looked aged. His hair was long and graying at the temples. The boyish charm was all but gone, and with that the glasses.

Hiro's gaze was cold, calculating and he didn't seem to fear him like he once had. Sylar lips twitched as he remembered the first person who almost killed him and made it stick was the man before him.

Hiro approached him with apparent ease; noting the general rise in the former serial killer's agitation. Sylar's eyes darted about the space looking for a way to think ahead should the Japanese man try to kill him again. This looked like a Hiro from a future unknown; one who possible held insight as to what would kill him in the past.

Hiro stopped two feet in front of Sylar. He gave him an appraising 'size up' that no doubt unnerved the subject of his perusal. "What is today?"

Sylar took an unconscious step back. "September 10th." He replied his voice rife with skepticism.

Hiro cocked a brow in question, clearly unsatisfied. "Have you married Claire?"

Sylar's eyes blew wide in disbelief. "What!" _**Married? **__Claire?_

A small smile played on the older hero's lips. _**Finally!**_

"I assume from your reaction that that scenario is ludicrous in the current timeline." Hiro gave a curt bow and stepped back as though poised to blink out existence when Sylar finally found his bearings.

"What if we were?" He blurted hoping the man would linger long enough to explain his strange line of questioning.

Hiro stopped in tracks and peered evilly at a man he called friend in a far distant future, dimensions from here and in a timeline that would evidently never exist.

The time traveler's eyes became solid black pools. "This is no game. Are you and Claire together…_sexually_?"

Sylar was completely taken aback, his eyes widening further in shock. Wow, _Really_. A rude and eerily invasive Hiro was not a person he wanted to deal with right now. Silence befell the warehouse as the two stared at each other suspiciously.

Hiro's stare became as hard as diamonds and a define snarl curled his lip. He literally didn't have time for this shit. "I only have this for you Gabriel, for I fear I have crushed too many butterflies just speaking to you now. You must never be in a relationship with Claire, it will spell our doom." Sylar gave him a biting glare yet he finished unperturbed. "You and Peter Petrelli must protect Micah Sanders, Molly Walker and Matt Parkman Jr.; they are the only hope if our kind is to survive the war."

Sylar bristled at the suggestion of Peter helping. He must have lived in the alternate future this Hiro hailed from.

"What war?"

The aging man gave him a look of annoyance. "I have said too much already."

Sylar's replying look could've intimidated the Pope, yet Hiro stood firm. "So what, you come here, cryptically tell me to stay away from Claire and expect me to do it?"

"You know deep down it is wrong and leads nowhere." Hiro said with a trace of defiance.

"Then why does it matter if we're together?" Sylar countered.

Hiro smiled softly at his reasoning. Gabriel was nothing if not tenacious.

"Heed my words Gabriel; you and Claire are toxic together."

A whispered, "_No Shit" _echoed from the former serial killers throat.

Hiro gave sardonic smirk to his not-quite friend, but by the time Sylar opened his mouth to respond he was gone.

* * *

**00000**

Claire exited her bathroom expecting her unavoidable 'guest' would still be lounging in her bed. Yet the room was empty with no signs of their recklessness.

Sylar was gone, and from the looks of it, it seemed he was never there.

It was just as well. This situation made it easier to believe that last night had been a dream, and if it hadn't been for the smell of his cologne she could've believed it.

His cologne had an aroma of a spicy wood with a hint of something inexplicably sweet—vanilla, no that wasn't right—It really didn't matter. It just smelled so good. Claire took a deep breath and sighed. The smell was intoxicating.

She sat down on her bed and began to rub her favorite lotion into her skin. The combined perfume of his scent and her pomegranate-watermelon balm wafted into the air causing Claire to shiver.

Closing her eyes against the images her mind began to replay, her body began the slowly smolder from the shameless thoughts the collective aromas invoked.

She couldn't help but to wonder where he'd gone. In a way she felt a little like that stereotypical one night stand girl; the one that had guys slipping out unannounced never to be seen again. But she would never be so lucky as to never see him again and that was a oddly comforting feeling.

Rewrapping the towel turbaned on her freshly dyed locks, she reclined into the soft sheets below. She couldn't believe it Sylar of all people, the man she hated more anyone on the planet was her… _lover_?

No—

Not lover, a rendezvous is more like it. It would never happen again…EVER!

**xxxx**

Noah arrived at the door to Claire's room to find it locked. Hand on the handle he leaned in to listen for any unexpected sounds. There were none.

"Claire-Bear open up. It's me."

There was no answer. But he heard the distinct sound of movement in her room and caught slight shadows beneath the door.

"Claire?"

Again there was no answer. Noah looked up to the heavens for guidance. She was there but ignoring him and he was getting more agitated by the second.

"Look honey, I know you're having a hard time. Let me in so we can talk."

The shadows grew closer and Noah held his breath as the door handle turned.

When it opened his daughter stood in pink fluffy robe with a towel wrapped on her hair. The air had of a sharp scent he couldn't place but what disturbed him was the fact that she was blocking the doorway, not allowing him in and not fully opening the door.

He wanted to hug her but her crossed arms told him she wasn't in the mood for a hug. Her angelic face was twisted anger and her bottom lip trembled. "What do you want?"

"Claire-Bear please don't do this." He pleaded hoping she'd pity him one more time.

"Do what? Let you lie to me some more. Or comfort me because now I have no one but you left. My entire biological family is gone. Are you happy now? Because I think you are."

"Claire you know that's not true. Peter, Angela…we were close." Noah's voice trembled as he finally internalized his former employer's demise.

Claire was too far gone to hear the distress in her father's tone. "There's nobody left for me to turn to and you got exactly what you wanted. Your _Claire-Bear _all to yourself. Except this time I'm not falling for it." She stated resolutely, her attitude commanding despite her small stature.

_Ouch._ Noah took a deep breath ticking his lips to bury the emotion he felt. Sure he expected her anger, her blame, but not total rejection. It seemed Claire had stood by him through much worse. But this was Peter. The man was like a brother to her.

"Claire I know you don't mean that you're just hurting."

"That's just it _Noah_, I do." She sneered, her voice heated and menacing. "But what is most unnerving is the only person willing to defend you hates you more than anyone on the planet" She tried to contain her venom, but Peter's death and Sylar's current magnitude in her life all coalesced in that moment. "I know you had a hand in this dad. Your name's written all over it."

Noah tried hard not to flinch. How could she possibly know about his fringe involvement with this situation? He never knew the man's plan but he did help him on the off chance that Kurt's intentions happened to eliminate Sylar, but unfortunately that plan backfired.

"Claire I had no idea."

"Of course you didn't" her tone dripped with sarcasm. "You know what Sylar told me on our way to Utah…?" she looked off into space like all the mysteries they discussed finally made sense.

"What?" Noah replied weakly. Claire's tone hurt like a punch in the gut, it didn't help that she was one of the few people who could bring him to his knees.

"He saw you in the background of one of Angela's dreams. The one where that thug killed us and you looked on, right behind him— smiling."

"What—? Claire you don't believe him do you?"

"Actually— _Yeah._ I do."

"Claire, Sylar's not above lying to you…" Noah began anger and condescension coloring his tone.

"You know what actually he is. He has never lied to me. He always told me the god awful truth and trust me, sometimes I wish he would just lie to me." She stated through clenched teeth.

"Claire what's going on? You're not softening towards that monster are you?" Noah's tone dripped with disgust as his immediate answer registered from her rapid blink and slight flinch at the implication.

"You are. _What did he tell you_?" Noah stepped forward having seen and heard enough. That bastard _was_ manipulating his little girl.

"That's no concern of yours"

"The hell it isn't. Where is he? Is he in here?" Noah barreled into the room nearly knocking Claire down in his haste.

He went to the closet and the bathroom before returning to the spot where his daughter stood seething. She'd looked so much like her adoptive mother in that instant that one might have never known she was not her own flesh and blood.

* * *

**00000**

Sylar deliberately crushed sandy clumps of rock as he walked around the lonely desert landscape. It was so quiet and in complete opposition to the bustle of New York. His eyes trained on the hazy steam lines in the distance and he remembered the old man's words from the diner he stopped at a few miles back; who told him that the Grand Canyon was a great place to think?

He sure hoped he was right.

Settling down on a plateau no one could possibly reach without benefit of flight he reclined on the hot earth to stare at the retreating afternoon sun.

His thoughts circulated and swirled in his overactive brain lost in thought over the current dilemma that Peter's death created and Hiro fateful words. It was selfish really how much he needed Peter to be alive, mostly for his own mental well being.

Peter had for so long been a compass but now that he was gone his direction was a little less clear.

He marinated a bit too pensively on Hiro's prophecy, it gnawed at him. _Marriage._ What were they before; In the future or on another plane of existence he and Claire were married. It spoke volumes. But what had changed in the current timeline? Why were they mortal enemies…_with_ benefits? Why did their marriage lend catalyst to war? And Peter-he was alive.

He thought about going home that empty apartment—well empty of the companionship he shared with his 'brother'. Sure Emma and Micah were there but they never really seemed to fully embrace him. Their thoughts always laced with a hairsbreadth of fear that he would 'lose it' and backslide into his previous ways. There was no one left who loved or even cared about him. No one. Sylar's eyes fluttered closed in frustration as he refused to shed tears even as he was alone.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and began to bite his nail, an old habit of Gabriel's. Willing himself to stop, he glanced down at his watch.

It was 3pm. He chuckled out loud. Twelve hours ago he'd awoken to Claire's unexpected seduction and the best sex of his life.

Claire.

His thoughts always seemed to round back to Claire. The woman he loved. The woman who didn't love him back and probably never would. He let out a long breath. Hiro implications left him wanting, longing, and hoping. In a different time they had been more. So much more. It was possible, but not here; a variable of an era that could never and would never exist.

Sighing he rose to a slackened seated position. He really didn't have the capacity to think about Claire right now. There were too many responsibilities and undertakings now and those who depended on him for protection.

Sylar shoulders slumped with the mental weight of the world. He had never been this needed before.

In his former existence the necessity of his presence in anyone's life would have been welcomed, enjoyed even, but now it was just overwhelming. There were people out there who required his protection, like Micah, Emma, and he still hadn't found Matty or Molly. It was strange how _**he **_was fated to be the hero, particularly now that Peter couldn't protect them.

Sylar sniffed up his pride, denying the dark uproar of sorrow to occur right now. It hurt too much.

He rose from the ground and dusted his dark denim. Memories flooded through his clairsentience of them being disposed of in the heat of passion. _Petite hands trailing along the waistband, and then lowering to stroke him through his jeans._

_Claire._

He closed his eyes tightly trying to banish the warring thoughts in his head. He had to keep his head on straight and Claire Bennet was the ultimate distraction. Unfortunately this time, saving the cheerleader would mean forsaking the world.

* * *

**0000**

Sylar arrived at the Bennet home around 6pm. All the lights were on and he suddenly felt like a creep for returning. He didn't live here and was pretty sure his presence was unwelcome at best. Kicking a stray pebble on the street he stood outside for a long time contemplating his intentions.

_What did he want from her? _

Acceptance. Eternal companionship. Love

_Well, bad question. What did he expect from her?_

— _honestly?_

Okay…honestly— an agreement that she wouldn't try to kill him would be nice.

He smiled despite himself at that. She was so feisty he almost wanted her to keep trying_. _

_Damn he was a masochist._

Before he knew it, he was at the Bennett's front porch finger an inch from the doorbell.

_This was insane. _

Noah was here and Claire was safe. His protection wasn't needed anymore, and for some reason he gathered it wasn't just a saying that he and Claire would have to be the last people left on earth for anything real to happen.

_But in another timeline you were married._

The doorbell's echo shocked him into reality. It was like he lost control of his impulses and rang the bell regardless of his internal protest to the contrary.

He heard the faint bark of the fluffy Pomeranian and smiled. _What was the furball's name, Mumbles, Mangoes— no Muggles. _

The soft melodic sound of Claire calming the animal rang in his mind as she approached the door. Beads of sweat sprouted all over his body and his limbs trembled with the raw nervousness of seeing her again.

**xxxx**

Claire heard the bell and welcomed the reprieve from the thick tension of her parent's silent treatment standoff. Bouncing away from the living room she shushed Mr. Muggles and stood on her tiptoes to peer through the viewer.

She dropped her full weight abruptly down on her feet, with a barely contained tremble.

Sylar.

Green eyes blinked furiously as she debated whether or not to allow him inside. No sooner than the thought crossed her mind her hand was on the handle, turning it as the door swung open.

His tall frame seemed sunken as he peered at her from under long dark lashes.

"What are you doing here?" she asked softly, so as not to disturb her family. He shifted a little unsure on his feet, causing Claire to wonder if she was getting a glimpse of the awkward man formerly known as Gabriel Gray.

"I don't know." He replied honestly.

She nodded her head in acceptance of that answer but her glare never faltered.

His eyes finally met hers and a secret acknowledgement

"I'm going to head back in the morning." He paused meaningfully. "I think it would be best if you came back with your father."

Claire opened her mouth to counter but found her mouth worthless. She hated to admit it but that actually hurt. _Was he rejecting her?_ He didn't sound sure of himself at all. This definitely wasn't the arrogant, asshole, maniac that laid her across the coffee table bleeding and skull-less. This man sounded helpless and scared.

"Why can't you take me?" Her voice shook noticeably and she hated herself for being so vulnerable.

"You know why." His voice was low and miserable eyes trained at the top of the door hinge refusing to look at her. Hiding.

Her lip trembled and she looked up containing the tears as her face grew hot. He _**was**_** r**ejecting her. He got what he wanted and now that he had a chance to escape he was going to leave. It was just as well. Right?

_So why did she care! _

Claire toed her foot on the welcome mat eyes refusing to meet his. She didn't know what to expect after last night but this wasn't really a scenario that rotated heavily in her mind.

She never took him for a 'Wham, bam, thank you ma'am' kind of guy.

_Stupid, Stupid Claire, you don't even know him_.

Sylar turned reluctant eyes her way, wishing he could counter that thought, by telling her everything he could think of about himself.

She bit her lip harshly to hide the quiver_. Well I hope he enjoyed the sport of 'stalk and deflower' because that's the closest he'll ever be to me, ever. Its over. Done. Oh and he can count on spending eternity in solitude because from now on he's dead to me._

Sylar flinched at the angry thoughts and looked at her sadly. The last thing he wanted her to do was hate him. She would never understand how much he loved her, the lengths he'd go to just disappear with her forever. He'd let everyone on this rock die if it meant he and Claire could just be together for eternity.

She'd never allow it though. The annihilation or the companionship, but he wasn't about to let her fall into danger, and allowing Peter's murderer to run about unchecked spelled certain death for a lot of people.

"Claire—" he started weakly.

She shook her head firmly. Jade eyes turning hard as she stared at him, lip trembling. It was then he noticed the golden hue of her hair. She was a blonde again.

Something was wrong with him. he never missed details like that. It was in his very nature to notice everything.

From inside he heard a chair scrape and footfalls. _**Bennett.**_

He looked weakly at her irritated face. In that instant he didn't hold back reading her thoughts and she didn't seem to care. Hell she projected them like a scream.

_I hate you. I'll hate you till the day I die. You used me…again. You bastard!_

Sylar's heart constricted. He'd told her she wouldn't regret last night. He'd lied−_unintentionally_. She would have to hate him. "Claire I'm sorry."

Claire gave him an eviscerating stare before huffing in disgust. Taking a step back she slammed the door.

He listened as she gave a lame excuse to her mother's question before sprinting up the stairs. He could still hear her thoughts; each more upsetting than the one before it.

Sylar stood there. His heart and head at war.

_**Go after her you idiot. **_**Sylar **

_**No, I have to let her go. **_**Gabriel.**_** Selfless**_

Gabriel won. The one person in the world he wanted to understand him, accept him, love him—in another time he knew she had the capacity, but it was all moot because he just pushed her out of his life. It was unselfish, noble even.

Who was he kidding…it was stupid. He shuffled down the street a few blocks as the reality of his true isolation hit him full force. He was alone again.

_**What the hell did I just do?**_


	10. Obsession

Obsession

**(ST:TOS 2:13)**

**I know everyone is missing the new resident psychopath of this story, but he's back (or was he always there). I hate the anticipation more than you do. Anyway…enjoy.**

_**Photographs & Memories-Jason Reeves**_

_**This Years Love-David Gray**_

_**Breathe Me-Sia**_

_**She is Love- Parachute**_

**000000000000000000000000**

**Petrelli Mansion-Manhattan, New York City, New York**

_September 14,2010_

Rain pattered along the large picture windows lining the pristine Manhattan mansion as olive eyes gazed through the ivy iron work on the stately front door, tracing a solitary raindrop as it danced its way down the glass.

Taking a deep breath Claire returned watched her reflection in the mirror adjacent to the large receiving hall for the tenth time in as many minutes. Noticing the silver glint in the corner of mirror her stare broke, to stare longingly at the picture on the entry table. It was the same one she'd admired at Nathan's funeral; the one of Peter and Nathan obviously goofing off. She smiled despite her mood of a memory she was never privy to.

A stealth shadow drew beside her to touch the frame of that picture lovingly. Claire turned to wrap her companion in a tight hug; the both of them clinging to each other like life depended on it.

"Claire." A small yet maturing voice called from foyer door.

"Hmmm?" she answered pulling back from the embrace to sniff back wayward tears, tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and fan her suddenly too hot face.

"People are here." The male voice whispered from beyond the walls.

Claire straightened her black suit jacket and smoothed stray hairs back into the lose bun with a bobby pin. Taking a long sobering breath she grabbed Emma's limp arms in a reaffirming clinch before they both joined Micah at the door.

The three of them stood solemnly at the opening of the spacious entryway, as each guest entered the home.

After a procession of around a dozen people, none of which Claire was familiar, a pretty brown skinned woman with wispy dark curls stopped in front of her. Recognition dawned on the blonde right before the woman flashed a small, pained smile and unexpectedly hugged her. Claire stood dumbfounded letting herself be hugged, grateful yet overwhelmed at the stranger's affection. Pulling back the woman gave her mournful look.

"I'm sorry this is the only way we seem to meet." Claire cocked her head still unsure of how she knew her. The woman in question noticed, "I'm Elizabeth, Senator Petrelli's aide." Realization dawned on Claire and she returned the aggrieved smile.

"Your uncle was a good man. Your dad used to tell me about…" Elizabeth stopped short realizing that it was probably compounding the pain talking about Nathan at Peter and Angela's wake. "I'm sorry for your loss," she stammered scurrying away.

Claire smiled feebly at the awkward exit and made a mental note to remember her just in case she needed something pertaining to Nathan's contacts.

Allowing her eyes to sweep the room, Claire noticed Emma had moved to the entrance of the dining room absorbed in a signed conversation with a man Claire never met. A shiver went down her spine as she remembered what Peter told her about what happened in that room last November. How 'Nathan', Angela and Peter had their last Thanksgiving there and now all of them were dead. Well technically Nathan was already dead- but the point stood.

The man talking to Emma signed towards her stomach and Claire smiled slightly. Emma was five moths along, her slight body looking only like she just had a heavy meal; not a life growing inside her. She and Peter had told no one about the news, not even Sylar or Angela, though Claire deduced, given their abilities they already knew.

Claire scanned the room again. She hated that she was looking for him. Expecting to see him. She swallowed the lump of sadness that existed since his departure from Costa Verde.

She'd actually missed him the past three days; only belatedly wondering if the desire to see him was only to spite her father. But her inner consciousness knew better. His solemn exodus left a huge hole in her already hollow heart. One more person who loved her pushed out abruptly by the need to protect her fragile indestructible heart.

_What am I thinking? _Claire shook her head in disbelief, she'd already confirmed that Sylar couldn't possibly love her—it was obsession plain and simple. And now that his lust for her had been satiated maybe she would be free to engage in normal relationships, without him threatening or making that individual simply disappear.

Nevertheless her eyes continued to probe the room for him; landing on every dark tall figure with a seed of hope only to have it crushed each time the person turned around.

_Where was he?_

Finally the energy changed and she could feel a hum of raw energy, like strange sixth sense. Searching eyes landed on the lofty mystery man in the formal living room. Even in a sea of people dressed in black he stood out as the only one who truly deserved the shade. He was sipping on a caramel colored liquid barely listening to the attractive brunette who chatted him up obliviously.

Claire frowned. She knew that woman, and she was trouble.

The perky female was Therese Elms, a nurse at the hospital, which Peter was affiliated. She and Emma had gotten into it a few months ago, for overtly flirting with Peter at work right in front of her. When he showed no interest for the tramp she used little tactics like inviting herself into his apartment after giving him a ride home, even though she knew Emma lived there.

According to Micah, Peter roundly ignored her the whole time so she turned her attentions to Sylar, who happened to be the only one willing to talk to her that night and was gracious each time she stopped by unexpectedly.

Claire's faced became pinched as she watched the woman's hand land on Sylar's arm as she shamelessly flirted. Calling him "Mickey" to which he subtlety cringed, but otherwise, he seemed oblivious to her attention. He looked distracted, his eyes darting around the room searchingly.

On a secret level, she hoped he was looking for her, but she'd never admit it to herself or him—

Even so Claire's features twisted angrily. _How dare that tramp come to my uncle and grandmothers wake to hit on a guy? _

Seeing red, but refusing to call it jealousy, she rationalized her fury at the notion that some _whore_ was at her house trying to use this heartbreaking occasion to get a little action.

Claire was so lost in her angry inner musings she missed Sylar reaction when he finally detected her in the crowd.

Then their eyes met and Claire's stomach did a full flop to her feet. There was that look. That pleading 'I-love-you-Claire-please-don't-hate-me' look and she fought hard not to feel wretched for doing just that, while again wondering why she cared?

Her self-loathing was short lived as the brunette at his side slid her hand to his stubble covered cheek to redirect his attention.

Claire fumed as she heard the whispered "…isn't that your niece?" and watched as Sylar flinched at the implication. He removed the woman's hands from his face and stared her down in his most intimidating expression which coincidentally was identical to the homicidal face from his killing days.

Claire shook in equal parts fear and vindication. But the twit smiled back at him and hugged him instead. _Damn she really didn't know who she was dealing with._

Sylar looked at a complete loss at the action. By now most people were running, screaming, bleeding or a combination of the three. Therese pulled back ignoring the way Sylar tensed and tiptoed up to bestow a chaste kiss on his stunned lips.

Claire looked on, completely taken aback at the scene playing out in front of her. Then something just snapped.

Before she knew it she had stalked through the thin crowd to Sylar's position. In the most embarrassing display of territorial behavior she gripped his hand, with a muffled explanation about bad hors d' oeuvres to Therese, and led him away from the _tart _and into the kitchen.

After dismissing the staff with an unnerving sense of déjà vu, she cornered him near the pantry.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He gave her an annoyed glare, before cocking his head speculatively. He looked as though he was reading her mind to determine what particular situation she was querying; him being here or the kiss with Therese.

"Get out of my head!" She hissed softly as not to alert the other mourners outside.

Sylar smiled with a self satisfied smirk. She was jealous and refused to admit it to herself.

"Why honey, I didn't know you cared." He teased lightly trying to ignore the ball of hope in his gut.

"I don't."

His vision shook with the lie and he cocked his head in admonishment. "You do…_a lot_."

"I hate you." She stated angrily.

He nodded even though his vision shuddered again. They stood in silence for a deafening ten seconds before he finally interrupted the stalemate. "What's this about?" He signaled between the two of them trying to sound nonchalant even though his mind was simultaneously battling feelings of hurt and hope.

Claire opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. Again they were awash in silence as she struggled for words. Finding her voice she spoke softly the venom drained from her tone. "Are you here to torture me? Because if you are please just leave." A tear trailed her cheek and Sylar tensed; letting the comment about his presence being a mode of torture instead of a sign of respect slide.

"Claire?"

He searched her face, pain written in the delicate features. She swallowed and took a resounding step backwards desperately trying to conquer her tears, yet failing miserably. Swiping at the onslaught Claire mustered a fragment of strength and looked him in the eyes.

"I should go back out there…I'm— I'm being a bad hostess." She muttered before turning to leave but Sylar caught her arm. She twisted back, eyes and body trembling; he imagined his expression was a mirror of hers.

Tears trailed down her pinked cheeks and he fought the urge to stop each one in its tracks and instead focused on her feeling empathically. Each radical emotion, _sorrow, guilt, anger, jealousy, hate, and a profound loneliness_, all coalesced in her mind.

Before he could stop it Sylar wrapped her up in tight embrace mentally cursing himself. His head rested atop hers and after a few moments of companionable silence and comfort, she pulled back to stare at him. This particular situation seemed to be happening a lot lately. Claire's eye makeup was ruined and her bottom lip trembled uncontrollably, and in that instant she was more beautiful than he ever envisioned.

Clearing his throat he remembered Hiro's warning, but couldn't bring himself to care. He leaned in to kiss her.

It started slow their lips trembling nervously against the other, but then her tongue snaked out to caress his lips. He groaned softly cupping her face and deepening the kiss; he could taste her tears, and his chest tightened. She never deserved to cry.

Sylar's fingers loosened the confines of her bun telepathically allowing her golden hair to spill out over her shoulders, before plastering their heated bodies together.

The moment their bodies aligned the kiss changed, it became frantic, passionate; speaking volumes of their need and desperation. Frenzied tongues met and his hand wrapped around her petite waist lifting her to his level. He walked them to the pantry wall and hitched her legs around his waist. She clutched desperately at his hair as he faintly ground his pelvis into hers.

It felt so good. He could feel her heat through the thin fabric of his dress slacks, could smell her arousal as it dampened her panties, and could hear her heart hammer against her ribcage. As her hips shifted against him, the feel of her overwhelmed his need for self control and he could markedly appreciate Hiro warning, because just kissing Claire led to a sensory overload.

They were lost in each other –the outside world be damned. However a soft gasp from across the room pulled them from the moment.

Claire leveled an evil glare at source before she realized the gasp came from none other than her mother as she stood next to Emma; they both wore matching expressions of horror.

She and Sylar stared back with equal looks of shock on their faces. _**Caught.**_

Claire dropped her feet abruptly to the floor as the sobering reality of her actions hit. Her mother's stunned expression grew into a thin angry line, while Emma's began to soften.

Sandra Bennet lost all filters in that moment as, "What the hell do you think you're doin' to my daughter you insane asshole," Issued from the southern belle's normally retrained mouth.

Both Claire and Sylar lifted eyebrows in surprise at the statement as Sandra advanced on the couple, eyes focused on Sylar—then a resounding crack echoed in the room. It took half a second for Claire to realize her mother just slapped Sylar. A collective clench of breath resonated through the spacious kitchen as they all stood horrified awaiting the ex-serial killer's reaction. But instead of the anger Sandra expected on the killers face there was only sadness.

He swallowed hard, his affronted jaw ticking as he glared at the three women.

Emma clutched protectively at her stomach and Sylar shook his head in disgust before exiting the room.

He knew better than to hope.

**00000**

Kurt felt the ripple of change as the background behind him melted away and was replaced by a different one. A long leisurely smile crossed his lips as he took in his surroundings. It was all coming together.

A knock on the door made his lips twitch yet he begrudging allowed the individual entry. A tall, golden complexioned man with short dark waves entered his office and took a seat. The smile on his face was snide and full of revulsion.

Kurt didn't bother to look at him further, his silence allowing the man the opportunity to speak.

"They have your mother you know."

"I am aware." Kurt stated, steepling his fingers thoughtfully.

"So you're just going to let them keep her hostage."

"No, but she'll be fine. There's not much they can do to her that hasn't already been done." Kurt deadpanned turning to pick up his writing pad.

"Your heart is stone." The man seethed. "For whatever things you think she's guilty of, she's your mother."

Kurt's eyes turned hard as granite their depths flaring with rage. "I know." He stated through equally clenched teeth desperately trying to hold back his anger.

"Then what are you going to do about it?" The man asked irately, leaning forward hovering over Kurt's desk; the electronic pad laying there began to ripple with static.

Kurt's long brow quirked in annoyance. "Do not test the limits of our friendship, _**brother**_."

The man heeded the thinly veiled threat and backed away.

"Is this all you came to discuss?" Kurt asked lightly eying his visitor with haughty derision.

Now it was the man's turn to look smug. "She found him."

Kurt looked incredulously at his friend, whose smile only deepened with his prolonged dubious stare.

"Where?"

"Where else? The man sneered. "Texas."

Kurt shook his head in disgust. A line from one of his favorite movies rolled in the forefront of his mind. _**Behold, I send you forth as sheep amidst the wolves**_.

The descriptor was highly appropriate for his role in the demise of the undeveloped race known as humans. A perfectly evil smile traversed his lips yet again. He would be _The Devil's Advocate_ indeed.

**0000**

Sandra Bennett ushered her shaking daughter to the guest bedroom off the first floor parlor. Not a word was spoken as they marched lockstep through the throng of mourners.

Sandra stood at the door back to the room as Claire settled on the pristine white sheets.

"Claire what was that?" Sandra asked not turning around, afraid of her daughters answer.

"I don't know?" Claire answered, her voice small

"You just…I don't know what you did really, but…Sylar?" Ms. Bennett seemed at a loss moving to the bed containing her daughter who looked on the verge of breakdown.

"I don't know mom. Sylar and I are just…complicated." Claire buried her head in her palms. _Did my mom just see me make-out with Sylar? I' m going to be sick. Thank god my dad wasn't here._

Sandra grimaced, "Claire honey it's your life. I'll support you no matter what."

Claire lifted her head, tears glistening in her sparkling green eyes. "Mom I think I might be falling for him."

Sandra Bennett stared at her child with concern and then smiled ruefully. She'd never thought she see the day her daughter and that monster could stand to be in the same room much less to see them _together_. That explained a lot of the commotion she heard Claire's room her first night in Costa Verde. It also explained the big part of Claire's brooding attitude.

Sandra rubbed her daughter's hair like she did when Claire was a toddler. "You remind me of myself. Falling for the bad boy."

Claire's head shifted to gaze at her mother, with a baffled expression. Up until three years ago her mother thought she was married to a run of the mill (pardon the pun) manager of a paper company. Sandra smiled noting her daughter's confusion.

"Before I met your dad I was engaged to a man named Lonnie Richardson. Claire's eyes opened wide in surprise. "Believe it or not, I always knew he was different. But that was before I knew that people like you existed," she squeezed her daughters hand and met her soft smile. "So I chalked it up to my overactive imagination when I swore that I saw him start a car with no keys or a screwdriver." Sandra paused and looked off wistfully. "He was car thief and a con man. And I loved him with every fiber of my being."

"Mom!" Claire sounded humorously shocked, chuckling softly at her mother's warm yet pained smile.

"I was a young naive waitress fresh from high school and he was my gorgeous dark haired twenty something mechanic that took a liking to flashy cars. He was my dream guy and my mother's worst nightmare." Claire's grin grew as she listened.

"Then one day…" Sandra choked up, caught in the emotion of her retelling and Claire's smiling face fell as she watched her mother struggle. "Mom?"

"You know…I never thought about it before but he disappeared two weeks before I met your father…"

Another pause filled the room as a sudden realization befell the older woman. Sandra shook her head attempting to banish the dark thoughts swirling in her head. It couldn't be true. _No._

"Noah wouldn't….would he?"

Both women exchanged a knowing look and Sandra swallowed the large lump in her throat as she realized the answer to that question. Claire's pained expression returned as reality hit them. Sylar and Noah were killers; no…murderers… and no amount of reasoning should make that truth any better. But for some strange reason Claire had gone beyond caring.

Reclining on the chaise lounge as the tears returned; she allowed the grief for her uncle, biological father, mother, grandmother and for her innocence to blacken the horizon of her mind.

Sandra smoothed her daughter's hair lovingly. "Sleep honey. It's been a long day. I'll make up an excuse for you."

Claire nodded weakly and allowed the tears to fall, as she drifted fitfully to the plane of dreams.

_Claire buttoned her coat and wrapped up tightly. The chilly north wind caught her hair sharply and she shivered beneath the layers of clothing as her hair danced amidst the vortex of fall leaves and debris._

_It was times like this that she missed cool yet not cold days in the south. It was probably 70 degrees back home, a sharp contrast from the 45__⁰__F here in New York. _

_It was gray day, and the lingering cloud cover suffocated the large city. It was only then that she noticed the lack of bustle and people. _

_Looking around she noticed the deteriorating streets and dilapidated buildings. She stopped in her tracks gazing at the large crumbling building before her._

_She looked around for life, but was met with a desolate silence. _

_No steam from the streets, horns, traffic or garbled chatter. No trill of pigeons or mechanical whirs of various construction sites._

_The city of eight million seemed deserted. No sooner than she noticed her isolation that she felt a cool hand touch her neck._

_Fear and excitement gripped her insides as she whipped around._

_A tall, dark haired man with wounded chocolate eyes stared at her like she was the last hope. His expression, desperate and hauntingly familiar. They stood in silence for a full ten seconds minds buzzing before the dark stranger spoke. He moved to cup her face, his appearance solemn and pained. Leaning in he placed a chaste kiss on her surprised lips._

"_Mom, Save us"_

**0000**

Claire woke with a start, and looked around at the pristine room frantically. _WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM! _

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N: Thank you for all your support kind words, reviews and suggestions. I will try to update more often as I know the time between updates makes the narrative vaguer and harder to remember as many of us are reading several different stories at once. **

**I recognize the verbosity of my post, but I don't want to leave any detail to chance especially in a story as ambitious as this one. Again thank you! Please review!**


	11. Friday's Child

**Chapter 11-Fridays Child**

**Bottle it Up-Sara Bareilles**

**1, 2, 3, 4-Feist**

**I Never Told You-Colbie Caillat**

**A/N: Told you I'd try to not leave you hanging. Has to be a record though, three postings in less than thirty days. Yeah me! Anyway rated M for language and Adult situations. **

**00000**

* * *

_**Manhattan, Petrelli Mansion**_

The house was so quiet that one could honestly believe that the world has passed away and left her alone for eternity. A shiver traveled her spine at the thought reminding her of that dream.

Her eyes returned to the unfathomable depth of the trace ceiling, hoping its height held the hidden remedy to all her issues. After about ten minutes of staring she came to the ultimate conclusion that it did not.

Rolling to her stomach she let her mind battle itself, while the house surround speakers blared some upbeat pop stars mundane lyrics completely contrary to her morose mood.

It had been three months. Three months since Peter and Angela's funeral. Three months since Molly and Matty's abduction. Three whole months since she heard from Sylar.

The wind shook steadily on the oversized window bringing reality back to the vacant musings of her brain. She was so lonely.

The mansion was her lone inheritance from the Petrelli's trust, containing over 8000sqft of vast rooms, high ceilings and lavish fixtures. It was all too overwhelming.

Last week Heidi stopped by with her brothers in tow. The boys were now well into their tween years and distinctly marked with Petrelli DNA.

Claire smiled as she thought of Monty with his crooked smile, darkening hair and brilliant green eyes. He was so sweet and reminded her of their uncle Peter more and more.

Then there was Simon. Oh, Simon was a character, mischievous and intelligent. Just like the stories she heard about their father.

She wanted them to move in to the mansion but Heidi had a job in D.C. and had since remarried. Not that Claire minded, they could all move in with their in-laws and the house still wouldn't be filled. Heidi declined graciously and told her they'd visit again next month. Other than the help they were the last people she'd been in physical contact with.

She rolled over on the plush white chaise. Everything in her life changed drastically and seemed to amplify her solitude. Before she craved the isolation but now…

Emma and Micah moved out and away from New York hours after the funeral to protect the baby. They didn't even tell her where they were headed, perhaps because they didn't know. Her mother left a week later not trusting Lyle to live another week alone in the house. She called everyday but it wasn't the same. Noah Bennett came by two weeks ago to talk, but that dissolved into accusations and yelling, not to mention the fact, her mother had let it slip that she and Sylar had kissed. That revelation did nothing to hinder his insane Sylar obsession.

Honestly he was the one person she really found herself wanting to talk to. She hated him, of that she was sure, but the pull to have him near was becoming overwhelming.

Then there were her dreams.

Since the funeral they had grown more cryptic and they weren't like normal dreams that were forgotten upon waking, these dreams stayed in her mind; rolling and tumbling in her overactive psyche to be analyzed ad nauseam.

She never saw the man who called her _mom _since that dream she had at Peter and Angela's wake, in fact his image was the only one that seemed to fade, but she did dream of an inconceivable life a life with -_Sylar_. Every dream was so real, like the events they contained really happened.

Claire suppressed a yawn as she finally rose from the chaise to scrounge for some major junk food in the kitchen. She'd been up since 3am analyzing her latest "nightmare" from the previous evening, but honestly it wasn't so much a nightmare as it was a sweet dream….

_Claire slowly rolled her head towards the faint whisper at her side. She was vaguely aware of her surroundings but the soft voice at her left coaxed her out her lazy slumber. Her eyes blinked exhaustedly and she was vaguely aware of the cool air in the room as her sweat soaked, matted blond hair stuck to her forehead._

"_Claire, honey." The man's soft voice called again._

"_Dad?" Claire asked her voice a graveled mutter. The voice chuckled at her question._

"_No honey. It's me."_

_Claire's eyes focused on the face of the man at her side and a slow smile crept across her face._

"_Gabriel."_

_He lifted her hand and kissed it reverently, right above the large bauble on her left ring finger. _

_Gabriel lifted his head to look at her; a sweet smile crossing his face as he gazed at his wife, the mother of his children._

"_You did an amazing job honey." Gabriel whispered, leaning forward to push the damp locks from her forehead, to kiss her in that spot._

_After a sweet moment of his love flowing from the natural affection, Claire's hands framed his face to pull his chin down and bestow several soft kisses to his mouth. Between each tender kiss, a whispered "I love you," passed her lips…_

Thus began her inner turmoil this morning, the love of that dream warming her thoughts, if only for a little while. The way her 'dream self 'felt for Sylar—_Gabriel _was genuine, and not in any way forced. In a small way she wished it was real.

She was oblivious to the image she made of herself as she stared into space with a twizzler hanging half out her mouth at the notion. Claire flinched as the phone rang suddenly breaking her shocking reflections. An odd feeling of déjà vu of this exact experience made her shiver; that was happening a lot lately. She left the parlor and followed the rings echo through the spacious living room. Locating the phone in the breezeway she lifted it from the cradle, eying the number on the caller id, she frowned upon not recognizing the area code.

"Hello?"

"Claire?"

"Uh-hun." She answered distinguishing the voice but still cautious.

"It's Mohinder." His tone sounded panicked, causing her to grip the phone harder.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if you had head from Sylar lately."

Claire's grasp tightened. "No." she responded tersely. Her affection for Sylar was still fresh despite herself and her heart beat rapidly as she felt a mental blow to her gut on the off-chance something was wrong.

Mohinder made a sound of defeat, allowing a long moment to pass before responding.

"Janice Parkman died this morning."

Claire's stomach twisted again. "How?" The _did he kill her? _left unsaid yet implicit from her tone_._

Mohinder smirked despite himself— Claire, the pessimist. It didn't suit her. "She expired as a result of her injuries from the attack."

"How's Matt?" Claire asked, recalling how central he was to all the violence.

Mohinder emitted a depreciating scoff before responding. "Not good. Between Matty and Molly's disappearance, then Janice…he's…I don't know. It's like he's locked himself in his own mind."

Claire bit her lip as an uncomfortable lump swelled in her throat. The idea that Molly and Matty had been killed made her more distraught every day. Now innocent 'normal' people were dying and she couldn't imagine how horrible Parkman felt. Somberly she finally reacted to Mohinder's earlier statement, "Why do you need Sylar?"

"I need one of his abilities." His voice peaked and she could almost see the logical determination in his eyes.

"Mohinder." Claire stated in warning. She was always weary of those wanting to use Sylar. It never turned out good for anyone involved, herself included.

"I need his clairsentience." Mohinder stated. "I think I might know who's behind these attacks."

**00000**

* * *

Sylar sat precariously atop the green copper statue overlooking the city. He just didn't get it. The whole situation was all too complicated. Claire, Peter's death, Hiro's prophecy and his new designation as hero.

He leaned back on the grandiose crown and into the eaves created by its presence. The wind was chilly as it circulated from the Hudson and Sylar enjoyed the bite of cool breeze as it prevented him from mentally numbing.

He surveyed the New York skyline. The lives of millions carried on unbothered; living, dying, working, hustling, loving, hating, killing and saving. Their timelines fixed and undeterred. They were in flux working towards an end while he just sat suspended, watching-waiting.

Sylar lounged, quiet and motionless as two hours passed and the unforgiving New York afternoon wind escalated into a harsher bluster. He shivered in the thin black clothing and huddled deeper into the statue eyes returning to the skyline. The light of the city brightened the sky pushing out the emerging stars and Sylar had a nostalgic feeling of his mother, well his adoptive mother -Virginia.

He smirked slightly at the errant memory of what she'd told him the day his grandmother died. Saying; "grandma was watching over them and if you ever get lonely or lost just look to the stars, because she's there."

It was foolish, but comforting nonetheless. He wondered; were they up there somewhere? All of them, those he killed and those who were taken, those he didn't save in time, looking down on him, scorning his past, and judging his present, telling him that his road to redemption would never be enough.

His eyes snapped to his hands refusing to stare at the faint balls of light any longer, feeling as though the eyes of millions were now exacting their unsympathetic verdict on him in that instant.

Seconds ticked by when he felt the tickle of his cell phone's vibration. _No one had called him in weeks, who was calling him now?_ Fishing the offending object from his pocket he stared at the screens caller id.

_***UNKNOWN***_

A long dark brow quirked in confusion and uncertainty, "Hello?" he answered skeptically.

"Sylar?" the feminine voice shook and was faintly familiar, stifled by some muffling device. He made a quick mental rundown of every woman who would call him and had his number, and knew him by this name. There were only four possibilities; Emma…probable, but they had agreed not speak often to keep her location untraceable, Tracy…unlikely but not impossible, Lauren…very doubtful especially since he and Noah's falling out of sorts, and then…Claire, yeah her, impossible.

"Maybe." He answered.

"It's me…Claire." Sylar's heart thundered. "I was…I need to talk to you."

_Wow! _His stomach tied into knots. "Okay."

"Can you meet me?" she asked the tremble in her voice was punctuated with dreariness.

"Where?" he was so eager to see her, he'd meet her on the moon.

"Mohinder's."

"Okay."

"I'll see you at seven." She stated tersely, and with no further addendum she hung up.

The ball of hope returned but with it, a sense of gloom. He and Claire never talked unless something was wrong. _Really wrong_. His head dropped in pre-defeat, there was no them, they only associated for mutual survival…or comfort.

_But he'd get to see her_.

He'd promised himself to stay away from her. Not even stalk or follow her for her own safety and he was doing a great job of it for a whole month (had to be a record) but she'd called him, so technically he wasn't breaking his rule. He missed her so much it made his soul hurt, but honestly the hardest part were his memories…

**0000**

* * *

Sylar arrived at Mohinder's lab on time, yet the lights were out and the studio was dark and empty. He reached for the door honing in on every sound. He heard nothing but the normal sounds of city life.

_What if this was an ambush. Peter's killer did have a shapeshifter. Meaning that individual could take on Claire's persona. Why didn't he think of that_?

A hushed "_Sylar"_ whispered from the back of the apartment, caught his attention.

He walked cautiously hand arching blue electricity for both light and protection. When he caught sight of her, his heart dropped to his knees. She was gorgeous, flawless; every blond hair neatly coifed in place, with a wafting white blouse and black skinny jeans that were tucked into what he suspected were outrageously expensive riding boots. The light of his hand illuminated her soft face and he noticed her green eyes were rimmed in red and told the tale of a thousand tears despite her lavish couture.

"Claire?" he asked carefully.

She bit her lip as the tears threatening to spill over, flowed down her pinked cheeks. His expression softened as she propelled herself cautiously towards him. Sad eyes rose to his face as her hands slid to his frame his cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out, so instead she pulled him down into a desperate and needy kiss.

_Well this was unexpected. _

He deepened the kiss glad no one was here to interrupt this time, well at least he hoped not. After several long seconds they pulled apart for air. He tenderly brushed a long lock of golden hair from her temple.

He could feel it in the kiss. Hear it in her mind. She missed him. He leaned in and captured her lips a second time, kissing her deeper, allowing her tongue to win dominance in his mouth as he savored the taste of her.

After a few moments Claire pulled away with an ashamed expression. "I—I'm sorry." She settled her weight backwards, yet her hands still clutched his shoulders for support, Sylar pulled her back up firmly pressing her against his body.

"No. I'm sorry."

"For what?" She asked, her voice sounded breathless and desperate, she hated herself for that, not to mention the fact that she still hadn't released the grip on his shoulders.

"For staying away. For hurting you. For making you regret things." he stated, between each sentence he allowed his fingers to twine through the soft blond curls framing her face, his eyes gaining in intensity.

Claire looked down and didn't answer and Sylar swallowed, his heart throbbing a little, understanding Claire possibly didn't believe him.

"Did you really mean it? What you said…you know before…?" Claire couldn't repeat those words— wouldn't.

Sylar simply nodded, knowing that she was asking about his declaration of love months ago, yet unwilling to put his heart out there again.

"Then why?" she worried her bottom lip with her teeth still not meeting his gaze.

"It s complicated." He replied understanding her question yet unprepared to recount future Hiro's involvement on his actions in Costa Verde.

It was Claire's turn to nod. Her eyes finally rose to meet his again. Time ticked slowly as they stood motionless in the otherwise vacant studio. She couldn't tell him all she wanted to say but in a moment of complete negligence for his mind reading ability, she allowed the debate to battle in hermind.

_I don't know why I care. Why I want to keep him in my life when he has no intention reciprocating. He probably didn't know what he meant when he told me he loved me. Hell I don't know what that means. But I know that I don't love him. I never will. But I feel things…strong things. Maybe it's just physical. Yeah it has to be lust. But it not just that…he's the closest thing I have to friend since Peter. How pathetic is that? What if he leaves again? I'll be alone._

Sylar followed her confused mental state. Eyes blinking rapidly absorbing each crisscrossing emotion and thought.

_She wanted him. She felt things…strong things...for him._ _It didn't have to be love…yet._ He pulled her in closer and kissed her like life depended on it_._

When oxygen became an imperative they pulled back panting heavily. Sylar's eyes grew dark and predatory as Claire licked her lips, causing him to eye the small bed in the corner of the apartment shrewdly.

"Where's Mohinder?" He asked kissing her solidly before backing her up toward the direction of the bed. Their hands never stopped moving, roving each other's bodies like sex starved maniacs.

Claire's hand reached for his jeans closure and gave him a challenging look. "Why? You want some sick threesome?"

He chuckled then groaned as her hand tickled the hair just inside the waistband of his boxer briefs. "No I don't play well with others."

"Obviously." She replied snidely with a wry smirk, before pulling his lips against hers again.

He smiled against her mouth before spinning his back to the bed and collapsing so she was on top and landed above him with an "oohf."

Smiling up at his most selfish craving come true, he positioned her brusquely, aligning their sexes despite the sharp contrast in their heights. Claire flinched then grinned mischievously as she felt the growing erection tenting his jeans.

Sylar gazed up at Claire, the innocent expression returned to her face, as their eyes met. The action sent a shiver of desire tingling straight down his spine. He bucked roughly into her and triggered a lustful gasp from her pouty lips.

"Now Mohinder—?" Sylar asked again, his brain beginning to cloud to the point where he wouldn't care.

"He's in D.C., at some summit for Special/Human relations. He'll be back tomorrow." Claire breathed the last part huskily as Sylar's mouth latched onto her neck sucking profusely.

"Good." he mumbled into her neck. Claire's legs went around his waist squeezing his slim hips between her toned thighs. Her mouth opened in passion as Sylar's hands found her nipples taunt underneath the padding of her bra. Dark eyes focused on the sensual expressions of her face and he increased the movements of nimble, questing fingers.

**xxxx**

Claire's head swam with the amplified pheromones racing in her veins. She needed to tell him how unnatural this situation was, how abhorrent any sane person would find their fuck-buddy hookups. But she wanted this to happen; hell she'd been dreaming about it for months.

He made quick work of her top and bra, flinging them to parts unknown, leaving her topless to the wide space of the open studio. She shielded her breast with a weird flush of embarrassment and Sylar pulled them away.

"Gorgeous." He whispered as he leaned in to kiss her nipples. The skill of his agile tongue almost made Claire lose it right there and no one's pants had even come off yet. She should have been angry she was becoming such a whore for him; disturbed that her morals had loosened to this point of not only allowing him to touch her like this, but actually hungering for it. After a few moments of his tongue's attention and her dry humping his thigh, she grabbed a hold of his shirt tugging unceremoniously off his head.

Sylar lifted a thick eyebrow in question at her eagerness to strip him, but her next action nearly rendered his brain useless as she placed several wet kisses against his chest.

He bit his lip and his cock twitched. Claire released a small gasp as she felt the small shudder and damn it all to hell, if that diminutive action didn't make her blood boil with lust.

Claire ran her fingers seductively down the dusting and followed it down to his belt. Somehow the hairiness of his body was becoming a heady aphrodisiac. She leaned down to kiss his navel following the trail down his lower abdomen.

At that act his swollen groin seemed to arch towards her and a wicked thought crossed her mind. Eying his face now suspended in a lustful haze, eyes closed, mouth slightly agape she unbuttoned his jeans with a deliberate slowness.

Sylar's eyes snapped open as he realized how close Claire's lips were to his fly. He swallowed audibly and his breath quickened to a sprinters pace.

An unabashed "Claire—please," left his swollen lips as she eyed his boxer-clad cock. Her fingers shook as she considered the implications of doing this. It was insanely wrong and verified her descent into darkness if she willingly went through with it. Nevertheless, Claire stared him in the eye almost challengingly as she contemplated her actions; noting that her moral decline wasn't just willing, it was eager.

Her lashes fluttered along her checks seductively as her focus slid back to the task at hand.

Peeling down the thin cotton shorts she swallowed the hard lump of nervousness in her throat that refused to abate, while Sylar lifted his hips and allowed her to work them down to his knees.

She stared at him, remembering that she never really saw him the first time. He was bigger than she remembered, thicker too. It should've impressed her, but honestly she wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Her breath caught as a mild panic attack set in—she was really going to do this…

**A/N: TBC...**

**I know. I'm evil. Review!**


	12. Mirror, Mirror

**Chapter 12-Mirror, Mirror**

**I meant to post this on Christmas Eve, but there were too many personal distractions- ****C'est la vie****. Hope it's worth the wait. **

**You and Me-Lifehouse**

**Give Me Your Name-Ahmed Soultan**

**Falling in Love At A Coffee Shop-Landon Pigg**

**0000000**

Sylar did his best to slow his racing heart but the appraising look on Claire's face began to make him squirm a little under her scrutiny. A slight smirk played on her pursed lips and she licked them without thinking. That action sent a quivering exhalation from deep in his lungs that caused his body to shudder.

_Big Bad Sylar indeed_.

Claire's finger trailed along his tip, gathering the clear liquid accumulating there. She pulled away and stared at the sticky fluid before experimentally popping the finger in her mouth.

His reaction was a loud groan and violent tremble as he struggled not to grab her and bury himself deep inside her inviting heat.

She seemed to consider the taste of him before their eyes met again, and her gaze was fiery. Claire wanted to do this-badly, but fantasy and reality left a lot of unstated detail.

"Sylar— I um…"

His breath hitched as the obligatory "You don't have to," escaped.

She fought the smile building as she considered that small act of selflessness, but it wasn't a deterrent to the task at hand.

"I know." Claire answered nervously as she garnered every ounce of courage before her head ducked down to hesitantly lick the tip.

**xxxx**

Sylar fought the urge in the base of spine screaming at him to thrust— _to cum_. The tension in his muscles seized inexorably and his breath caught.

He felt the moist heat of her mouth as she took him in shallowly, then a little deeper and his body shook with the strain. She experimented with him, using the fluctuating tenor of his husky voice as a guide as her hand worked him in company with her mouth.

The sensation was incredible. His head rolled around on the bed as one hand clutched the sheets in death grip and the other cupped her soft golden hair gingerly. He was never so glad for his healing ability as he was now because he was positive he had a heart attack when her teeth grazed the thick vein lining his cock. Despite her inexperience Claire was a quick study and she allowed him deeper into her mouth to the point of which he felt the back of her throat constrict. _She just deep throated him. One of his baser fantasies involving her._ The delicate hold he had on her hair intensified and he could've sworn that Claire smiled at the triumph. _The little minx_.

Several blissful moments of her mouth laving him, ticked by before he felt the tightening; that maddening sensation that told him he was close. Summoning all the control he could possibly gather, Sylar stopped her, but not before a whimper escaped when she repeated the earlier action but with more gusto and skill, allowing her teeth to slide lightly up his shaft.

It took a full two seconds to collect himself again before he could move.

As he rose on his elbows Sylar stared at her face; it was far removed from the innocent schoolgirl he stalked years before and more like a wanton sex kitten. Her gorgeous green eyes were dark and hazed with sexual desire. He gulped harshly; he was going to cum from just looking at her.

Claire chanced a sly smirk as she leaned back and slipped gracefully out of her tiny black thong panties, flinging them to parts unknown. Sylar swallowed hard in an attempt to calm the thrum of overheated blood rushing through his veins at the sight of her completely naked, legs spread like a banquet— it was a futile action. As she lounged her bare body further on the foreign bed, biting her lip playfully, he knew that he'd never been this turned on before.

Sylar felt slightly guilty for doing this in Mohinder's loft while simultaneously annoyed that they weren't at his apartment marking every inch of it with her presence and this experience. Shaking his mind of the irrational jealousy that Mohinder's bed would get to caress her nude body before his, Sylar set his dark eyes on her creamy skin. He would make this the most incredible night for her. Not about sorrow or loss, but about them.

Hungry hands caressed her sides sending tingles up her body that were far from ticklish but caused her to shiver all the same. Short gasps pushed out her slightly parted lips as his head dipped into the crease of her shoulder nipping at her neck while his stubble scratched slightly at her flushed skin.

**xxxx**

Claire squirmed in impatience. Her core was on fire, throbbing, begging to be filled. She bit his ear pulling the lobe lightly with her teeth. Sylar released a deep groan and fought to control himself.

"I want you inside me." She whispered ever so softly in his ear before a untamed gasp left her lips from his attentions. He pulled back to confirm that the woman in his arms was real and not a figment of his overactive imagination. The moment of pause caused Claire to fidget in anticipation. Her actions were rewarded when her damp core rubbed up against his hardened cock, the exploit stimulating her clit in just the right spot, causing her to moan. She did it again and this time her whole body shook. Her movements caused a feral smile to grow on Sylar's face as he repeated the action and slid his swollen manhood deeply along her clit to test her reaction. She seized uncontrollably, and he had his answer. He replicated the stroke and she gripped his forearms painfully. After several more times Claire was a pulsating mess just on the brink of orgasm and then…. he just stopped.

Claire almost cried in longing as her whole body shook with the denied orgasm. A desperate and breathy, "Sylar please. Don't stop. Oh god, don't stop" Escaped her kiss-stung lips.

Few words could've bowled him over as much as Claire's desperate pleas did and he couldn't deny her need or his any longer. Sylar slammed inside of her wet heat, hovering above her shaking body as the tremors he ignited from his earlier attentions, squeezed his shaft uncontrollably. Her moans almost caused him to lose it right then. She gripped his dark hair as she pushed the center of her body off the bed. Her movements only served to embed him deeper and they both gasped in combined pleasure. She grasped his shoulders then his arms, scoring them with her tiny nails while each thrust elicited a soul deep moan and her inner muscles constricted in mild anticipation around him.

"Claire…oh…you're so—I…" he stopped, physically biting his bottom lip to stop the unbidden confessions he uttered last time from being repeated.

Claire continued to pant in desperation, fully aware of the course his words were taking before he caught himself. The reality of his almost admission didn't repulse her like it should've; it actually served to turn her on more. She nodded frantically, an insensible signal that another orgasm approached. Staring at his face for the extra shove to push her over the edge, she noticed the dark glasses and perfectly parted dark hair of her continuous nighttime lover.

_Gabriel._

That was all it took. Claire's nails grasped his forearms while her whole body clenched unbearably, trying to envelop itself.

**xxxx**

_**What did she just say! **_

_**Gabriel?**_

Sylar was so put off he barely noticed he'd stopped for the moment until the twinges raced up his spine triggering him to resume. However now, the mindless thrusts turned intense and deliberate, fueled by frustration.

_Gabriel!_ To him it felt like she'd said someone else's name. Gabriel ceased to exist long ago as far as Sylar was concerned and Claire's resurrection of him for their bedroom antics was a major blow to his ego. Yet those thoughts were short lived as he felt the tell-tale tingles again as Claire's inner muscles quivered seductively along his shaft. His eyes drifted closed and he chanced one last look at her sated face before he too succumbed to his body's imperative. Thrusting few more times to milk all he could from her still spasming body, he fell completely spent next to her on the bed.

Claire struggled to contain her runaway breathing as she came down from a high that made her head swim in exhausted post-coital euphoria. She hooked her leg across Sylar's waist and sprawled bonelessly across his sweaty chest, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

"Wow." She said softly.

"Yeah." He replied, the tone of his voice still labored by uneven breaths and darkened by aggravation.

"Is it always like that?" Claire asked impressed and clearly astonished by the experience.

He slid her body up his to cradle her head underneath his, her innocent wonder convinced a bigger part of him to forget her transgression. She was with him right now, it didn't matter what she'd said. "No." he replied his voice tender.

An unexpected twinge of resentment rolled up her spine at his admittance. He wasn't new to this obviously; he was what— thirty at least, but the fact, that he'd of course, done this before kind of stung. Albeit he'd just admitted he hadn't enjoyed it as much was an ego boost, but she couldn't contain her insane stab of jealousy. _Just how many times __**had**__ he done this?_

Sylar heard her minds assumption and suppressed his amusement. He never took her for the jealous type, but then again he was jealous of the name she uttered as she came, and for all intents and purposes that name was _his_. In all honesty, there were only a few women, five to be exact. And up until a few years ago there were only two, one from his first year at college and the "too Jewish girlfriend" his mom hated. Five wasn't a big number for a thirty-one year old guy, but the only one that mattered lay with him now.

Claire released a long contented yawn followed by a lazy smile. Her finger traced his face bemusedly, before a sleepy, "goodnight Gabriel" fell from her lips and she snuggled her head into the curve of his shoulder.

This time Sylar didn't suppress his shock at her use of his birth name _again_ fueling the dark thoughts of the previous moments. _Did she know she had said it before? Did she think it was acceptable? Was she so disillusioned to think he'd think it was okay to scream that name or say it after? __**They **__were not the same. __**They**__ were two different people with the misfortune to be housed in one body. _

He started to push her off when he felt her soft breaths caress his face. She'd fallen asleep curled in his arms. An eerie pang in his chest tightened disturbingly. He knew this was all too good to be true; Claire coming on to him, wanting him, trusting him, considering him a friend? She wanted Gabriel, that pathetic watchmaker. He knew something just wasn't right about their unconventional attachment—_outside the normal creepiness of course. _She hadn't been forced or manipulated, _by him at least_, but the unease of some bizarre intervention weighed heavily on his mind until sleep called.

**00000**

As the sun rose, Sylar stirred against the warm figure nuzzling her face into his body. He snuggled in deeper, a languid, happy smile crossing his face upon realizing that the warm vanilla scented goddess in his arms was indeed there.

She felt so good, the situation so natural. He stole a kiss at her temple with a soft, "So beautiful." whispered in her soft golden waves. He received a muffled "um" in confirmation , to which he granted another kiss to her head. Claire Bennett was in a weird quasi relationship with him, and incredibly there were _feelings_ involved.

The expression _never in your wildest dreams_ crossed his thoughts. Sure there was the whole Gabriel thing but it wasn't as big of an issue when he considered the fact that she was here. He lay there a few moments longer savoring her presence as she sank deeper into his chest for warmth, tangling her dainty ankles between his legs.

After a few moments she stirred with a muffled yawn before stiffening. Wide green eyes met his, almost comical in their shock. She gathered the thin white sheet and covered her chest from his view before backing up towards the wall adjoining the bed. Sylar remained motionless letting her have this moment of surprise.

After a few poignant seconds Sylar's thick left brow rose in question, growing impatient with the slow rate of her dispelling panic.

"Ohmigod that was real?" She murmured to herself and palmed her head like a hangover headache had taken hold.

Sylar looked confused. _What did she think that supernova sex session was? A figment of her imagination?_ "Yeah."

"You and I…um did this…again?" her eyes never met his and the sheet tightened as she looked for her clothes, eyes darting frantically around the room.

His skepticism and patience was starting to wear thin at her mixed messages and his next confirmation was a quick. "Yep" as his eyes hardened, the earlier euphoria of waking up next to her dissipating.

"Ohmigod!" Her head fell back into the wall in self-depreciation. "So stupid!"

His jaw ticked in the beginning tingles of anger, but he pushed it down with a deep inhalation. Sylar floated her shirt to the bed and flung it less than gently to her direction, a look of disgust plain on his face.

She accepted the clothing but made no moves to place it on her body, simply twisting the material in her nervous hands. _Last night wasn't a dream. It was real. It was good and actually pounded all the previous sex dreams with Gabriel into a coma. But this was Sylar not Gabriel, he didn't think like that. _

_Wait—was was she thinking? She never even met Gabriel Gray. Maybe it was the reformed serial killer Michael she craved— damn, she needed so much therapy._

The silence stretched as neither spoke or looked at each other. After a full minute Claire's eyes finally lifted from their downcast position to find him. Sylar was chewing his bottom lip with the saddest expression she'd ever seen on him. Her heart tightened in shame and that emotion she refused to acknowledge.

"Sylar."

His head rose to let his eyes meet hers. His striking brown eyes conveyed his anticipation for the upcoming blow.

"I'm –I'm sorry." Claire stated quietly her voice trembling.

He nodded, but remained uncharacteristically silent. Another noted pause passed and she wound her shirt into a wrinkled mess. She was anxious and just a little scared. _What he told her to forget it all, that her indecisiveness was too much for him to deal with. What if he left her alone?_

"Claire…" he began in a somber tone. She met his gaze as her heart threatened to leave her chest. _This was it. His blow-off to her. the whole "well it's been fun, but I need to go decapitate some people. See ya."_

Sylar suppressed the chuckle at that sentiment and changed course, they could deal with her reality issues later. "Coffee?" he inquired with a playful lift to his animated face, trying to appear chipper despite his pissy mood.

Claire's brow rose incredulously at the immediate about-face. "Y—Yes." A small smile inched across her features. Then an equally teasing "How domestic." left her smirking lips.

He chuckled softly at the irony of the situation, _**he**_was the one bringing reassurance; the amusement met his burnt caramel eyes.

He really was gorgeous when he smiled.

They both dressed quickly stealing glances at each other in the bright daylight. His gaze must have lasted longer than was prudent because she noticed and gave him a look intended to initiate pause.

He smiled gently, uncaring that she admonished the action. She continued to dress in silence and Sylar noticed every movement; from the way her small breasts bounced as she slid into her bra to the way her mouthwatering ass jiggled as she shimmied into her pants. Claire's movements were so unintentionally seductive that it stirred his cock into reaction mode again.

Finally fully dressed Claire looked over at him, and he hadn't gotten past the boxer briefs. It was then that she noticed Sylar's arousal and darkening bedroom eyes. Claire raised a perfectly groomed brow at him. "I know what you're thinking, but don't even think about it."

A sexy smile graced his handsome face as he stalked towards her determinedly, trapping her in the three foot expanse between him and the wall. "What are _you_ reading _my_ mind now?"

Claire let him hover in her space undaunted by the way he approached. "You're a guy, and you're staring at me and besides I can see…" She motioned to his tented boxers.

Sylar's eyes narrowed in lust and he licked his lips, an action Claire didn't fail to miss. The slow tingles of desire pooled in her core and she struggled not to create any friction.

"Hmmm…how very sexist of you." He stated, still not bothering to cover the growing bulge and instead ghosting his breath along her neck while not touching her. It was meant to tease, and from her breathless reaction it worked. She shivered and looked at him amusingly a gentle smirk on her full pink lips. He decided right then, that was among his favorite expressions from her.

She bit her bottom lip playfully and contrary to Sylar's estimation she ducked underneath his looming body to secure the black button-down dangling on a chair and toss it at him. "Get dressed Romeo."

He looked over his shoulder at the grinning goddess and not for the first time today he felt that tug on his heart that told him that he loved this woman with everything he had.

**0000**

The walk to the coffee shop was filled with stolen glances and secret smiles. It was so weird to share something so normal with Sylar of all people, but it felt right. Her hand found his and she slowly intertwined their fingers. Sylar looked down, mostly in shock and then in a desperate need for confirmation.

_Yep, she was holding his hand._

She never allowed her gaze to meet his; it would verify something she wasn't ready to admit.

They stepped into the Vintage Coffee shop and a strange sense of doing this before swept over the both of them in eerie similarity.

_Claire looked the spot Sylar stood only seconds before and instead of the confident super-powered, ex-serial killer stood a mousy awkward stranger with thick glasses. _

Realization dawned as Claire stared slack-jawed, the man before her wasn't her companion, but his former persona of Gabriel Gray. Claire blinked for clarity. Was she still dreaming?

_Gabriel pushed up his glasses with that same finger that so long ago slashed a telekinetic gash into her skull. He looked around shyly before turning his eyes to the counter to study the menu meticulously._

_A moment later a distracted petite blonde bounced into the small shop, the jangling bell perched above the door announcing her presence from the cool nightfall. _

_Her head was down, the phone absorbing her full attention, fingers flying in haste to answer a random message. _

_Without looking she ran right into a tall individual in front of her almost flooring both of them. His knees buckled but he caught the chair at the table closest to him while his 'assailant' landed sprawling on the floor, her phone splitting in three pieces as battery, phone, and battery door slid across the cafe._

_When her bearings returned her eyes rose to her clumsiness's latest casualty. "Oh-my-god I'm such a klutz." _

Claire gasped; it was her— but not her!

She felt like a voyeur as she watched herself meet Gabriel Gray in what looked like the first time, but not really. A warm presence brushed at her side and it was then that she realized it wasn't just her watching this. Sylar stood beside her, fingers intertwined with hers, silent and equally open-mouthed as he stared. It was like the strangest out of body experience, where reality, daydream and hallucination met.

_Gabriel pulled Claire from the ground, holding her upright against him as their eyes locked, for a noted three seconds, before he shyly looked away. _

_Her hands remained posted on his chest as both their gazes fell to the place. "Sorry", she said nervously letting her hands drop from their position on his torso. _

_Taking a measured step backward Claire introduced herself._

_He smiled innocently, a blush building across his pale cheeks, "Gabriel." He responded._

"_Nice to meet you. Sorry about the bump. I'm a klutz." She repeated and twisted her retrieved main phone component with an accusatory flick before returning her gaze to her unexpected 'victim'_

"_It's okay, really." Gabriel assured her with a shy smile._

_Claire grinned then bit her lip nervously before demure lashes fluttered downward. Her body beginning to heat with those initial tingles of desire._

_At that moment a cheery looking Asian man approached the pair. "Hello, are you Claire?" he asked with a broken accent as he too pushed up his glasses, ignoring Gabriel entirely. Claire nodded cautiously. As she stood in the middle of the two, feeling weirdly like a geek magnet._

"_I'm your date." His face split with a huge grin. _

_Claire inwardly groaned, but smiled politely at her 'date' as an awkward silence possessed the trio._

"_Nice to meet you Claire." Gabriel stated courteously, and nodded to the' date' before absconding the small shop without ordering._

_Claire stared at the retreating strangers back longingly, as her date grinned foolishly at his luck._

**Then it was gone**…..

Claire and Sylar breathed heavily as reality returned around them. People bustled the smell of coffee was fresh and view outside the shop returned to the mid-day sun. Their confused gazes locked on each other as normal life resumed.

_**What the hell just happened? **_


	13. Metamorphosis

**Chapter 13 Metamorphosis**

**Papercut-Linkin Park**

**Blurry-Puddle of Mud**

**A/N: To the readers; the last few chapters were the initial establishment of this relationship. I thought I needed more levity with Claire and Sylar before the hard times come. This chapter was rewritten three times before it took shape, hence the delay and the brevity of this piece. **

**For those of you sci-fi cannon buffs it's officially 2011- that means the events of "I am Become Death" or "Five Years Gone" would be unfolding had there been no intervention…**_**Hmmm.**_** Thus begins the second half of this installment and now the story lives up to its title and descriptor.**

**In a world where the beast has been tamed a new evil rises. Secrets are revealed and time sometimes reopens old wounds. Remember: fate has a way of realizing itself.**

**Smithsbabe65 this one is for you.**

* * *

_**Deveroux Building~ Manhattan, New York **_

This place had changed since he'd last been here. It was now more opulent and lacked the buzz created by multiple tenancies. Stepping off the elevator on the penthouse floor he didn't have to wait long to hear the resonance of his target's voice.

"I didn't think I'd see you for some time Noah." Kurt announced to his visitor cordially as he sat impassively at a massive desk, long legs stretched across its surface. The space was noticeably bare of any other furniture or décor except a small porcelain doll situated on an oversized windowsill.

"This isn't a social call." Noah Bennet stated with a menacing tone as he stepped forward in the dimly lit room, the look in his penetrating stare dangerous.

"Oh?" Kurt confirmed idly, lounging and wholly disinterested in the violence Noah's stare promised.

"You killed Peter." Noah seethed as he advanced towards the large desk.

"I did no such thing." Kurt replied with an exaggerated air of offense, picking up a small knickknack on the desktop and giving it a casual shake.

Noah's lips turned up into a snarl at the man's indifference. "Why didn't you kill Sylar? We had a deal!"

A grin split Kurt's long handsome face and he set the miniature ornament down allowing the dancing flakes to settle before he answered.. "I never had any intention of killing him."

Noah looked incredulous, words failing him as he blinked dumbly.

"Surprised?" Kurt chuckled with evil intent while leveling a malevolent dark stare at the man before him, the look on his features were so similar to Sylar it was uncanny. Noah didn't flinch even as his insides twisted, it wasn't the first time he noticed the thug's similarity to his arch nemesis.

"Noah, tell me what you're thinking. I'm sure it's just as entertaining as I suspect."

For the first time in a long time, a shiver of fear crept down Noah Bennet's spine. "Who are you?"

The evil toothy grin returned, and he gestured towards the door to his right. A familiar dark figure emerged from the shadows and Noah's face paled as he switched from Kurt to the man still lingering in the doorway.

"I believe you two are acquainted." Kurt said dismissively as his sneer deepened. "You know my mother always told me that friends and enemies walk a fine line. Make sure you're the one who draws it." His reminiscence evoked a deep chuckle that sounded hauntingly like a dead man and Noah paled at the words, knowing their origin personally.

"I drew that line long ago with you Noah…" Kurt thoughtfully pursed his lips then twisted them into a sadistic snarl. "And after I clarify my intentions the only question will be will be if you choose to play along or…." Kurt trailed off as he glanced at his accomplice, the smile cracking his face suddenly haunting as Noah fought the conflicting emotions at battle in his mind.

_He'd played both sides against the middle and lost._

**0000**

"Can it be that I'm developing a new ability?" Claire asked hopefully. She'd just spent the better part of half an hour recounting to a travel flustered Mohinder the events they'd experienced at the café. He was now staring, looking like an open-mouthed bass, completely floored at her description of the incident.

"Possibly." Mohinder stated in distraction before absorbing her words fully and abruptly turning to face her, "You said you walked into the café then the vision appeared and you were both there?"

"Yes. It was like we were there, but we weren't. It was— real." Claire insisted, and noticed Sylar's determined nod. She was glad someone else was finally there to corroborate.

"Like Angela's dreams?" Mohinder asked softly, still trying to absorb the weird happenings.

"No it wasn't like her dreams; her dreams came true in the future. This was like being a voyeur in some sort of past reality." Sylar stated stalking across the room to drop down on the steel couch from his propped position on the wall.

"Yeah," Claire chimed in, "We saw it like it was happening right in front of us, but we weren't there."

Mohinder nodded in understanding.

"Before it happened though, I got this strange feeling of déjà vu before we walked in. Then BAM! Strangeville." Claire recalled as she sat next to Sylar on Suresh's contemporary metal couch, realizing it was no longer strange how she gravitated to him even in the wide space of the loft.

She looked up to Mohinder and noticed her seat gave her a perfect view of the bed. The bed now adorned with pristinely laid sheets, sheets that only hours before, were hopelessly tangled around their sweaty bodies. Her cheeks pinked.

"So did I." Sylar stated confoundedly, his expression stunned. He looked over at Claire for confirmation but she seemed completely distracted. He followed her line of sight and a slow smile rolled across his face.

The room fell silent and motionless as all three immersed themselves in their own thoughts. Mohinder broke the stillness with a purposeful pursuit to his desk. After a few taps on the keyboard his exclamation broke into Sylar and Claire's individual sexual daydreams already in progress.

"It makes sense. Each generation is manifesting younger and younger. Molly and Micah both developed at ten years old." He turned to face the duo. "It's like human evolution and its descent into generationally expeditious adolescence."

Mohinder was going off on one of his academic tangents leaving Claire and Sylar alone, to exchange confused glances at him and then each other.

"Matt Jr. displayed his understanding of his abilities as an infant. _You_, he pointed to Claire, "were fifteen, and you…" he pointed to Sylar, "Were twenty-seven. Your father…" he was back to Claire, "was thirty four before he figured out he could fly." Mohinder raised a finger to his lips in contemplation. During my research I also isolated a common gene that runs between the two of you and four others. It could be why you are gaining this new ability. That and dual metamorphose parentage."

Both Sylar and Claire's face registered an acute level of surprise and bewilderment. "Meaning?"

"In my trials I found that the two of you, including the Petrelli's, Hiro, Molly, Tracy and Micah, the Parkman's and Emma, as well as others have a common ancestor that is not very distant. Possibly within four to seven generations. A great grandfather perhaps…" Mohinder paused looking increasingly distraught. A moment passed in silence as his thoughts chased each other.

"Adam." Mohinder said with slight awe in his tone.

"As in Eve?" Sylar asked with a smirk, "sorry to break it to you Mohinder but I'm only twenty-nine. I doubt my great-grandfather is the origin of the species." Mohinder gave him a condescending glare before responding.

"No, Adam Monroe."

Sylar opened his mouth to speak but paused clamping it shut in realization of a disturbing fact.

"No it all makes sense, now." Mohinder motioned widely to the room.

"Why you guys have all gravitated to one another is not just because of your abilities, it's like the natural law of attraction." Both Claire and Sylar paled, but Mohinder continued imperviously. "Salmon return to the lake in which they were born to spawn then die. Not because it's expedient or evolutionarily progressive but because it's hard-wired into their DNA."

Claire folded her arms across her chest in annoyance._ An incestuous relationship! Good job Claire! _

Sylar raised an eyebrow at her errant thought but the same queasy sensation rolled around his stomach too. Shaking his head from the unpleasant feeling he broke the insane buzz of their thoughts hoping the answer to his question would refute the hypothesis he concluded. "So what are you saying, Claire really _**is**_ my niece?" he said it with just enough sarcasm to be upbeat, but the strain behind his words wasn't lost on anyone.

Mohinder stopped and took in the couple before him anew. They were uncharacteristically close to each other and if he wasn't mistaken he could smell the trace scent of pheromones they put off.

_It couldn't be._ He glanced them over a moment longer than discretion allowed and could doubt it no longer. He could definitely _smell_ it. They had sex.

_Claire and Sylar—together. No good could possibly come from it. _

Sylar raised a dark brow in warning to the doctor to not repeat his musing aloud and Mohinder gave him a challenging stare in finally turned eyes to Claire, the look of distaste plain on his face and responded to the earlier question.

"Probably not, but a cousin...definitely, maybe— unless…" Mohinder stopped short, the bite in his voice giving away to surprise, as a wild thought occurred unexpectedly and he rushed to the pile of papers littering his desk. After he read a scrawled note on a sheet he began to input something into his computer to run a search.

Sylar's eyes opened wide as spied one of the search terms, "M pattern" the phrase seemed familiar but he couldn't place its source. Several names popped up and a few were hauntingly recognizable. Mohinder narrowed the parameters to "Partagas sample" and the list tapered down to four. Highlighted in red were three names that made Sylar's indestructible heart stop.

**2. Claire Bennett**

**3. Peter Petrelli**

**5. Gabriel Gray**

It had been bad enough he assumed he was her uncle last year, even if it was for a few weeks, and then that unfortunate stint as her father…well that was even more unpleasant given their current level of familiarity. He squirmed as the collar to his shirt became tighter all of the sudden.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Mohinder's anxious tone. "Oh my god, it's true." Mohinder spun around abruptly and his eyes rose to the pair, a slight tremor in his hands. Mohinder stared at them like a madman. "Your DNA doesn't lie. Somehow Adam Monroe is a common ancestor of 35% of those on the original list. But the bloodlines that run between the three of you are…I don't know how to say this without sounding completely insane…"

"What!" Claire snapped, the apprehension was building to a fever pitch and she was going to lose it.

Mohinder looked fearfully at them both. "You, Peter and Sylar have an almost identical DNA structure."

They both stared at Mohinder like he'd grown an extra head, which in their world should've been commonplace by now.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I –I don't know."

"It's impossible. We'd have to be related. You know sibl—" Sylar stopped short when he grasped the meaning of what he was about to say.

Mohinder's eyes rose to the pair with stark realization as a discernible silence settled on the space.

Claire gaped at Mohinder and suppressed a weak chuckle. He couldn't be serious. "What are you saying? Sylar's my brother?"

Mohinder gave her a sympathetic look to which she anxiously chortled. "You think that tall dark and evil over there and I are related?" Her stomach began to ache as tears came to her eyes. "That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard."

"No. It means that you two share a distinct genetic marker that characterizes you well beyond your abilities, a genetic drift culminating in this divergent evolutionary indicator."

Mohinder prattled on, too excited with his realization to notice Claire and Sylar's mutual looks of disgust and uncertainty at each other.

"So what you're telling us is that our DNA says were somehow brother and sister?" Mohinder lifted an eyebrow in an inquisitive yet definite manner, however Claire continued. "That's impossible we don't even have the same parents how can we possibly be related?" she probed with an unsteady voice and a stalking advance to the super-strengthened geneticist.

"I honestly don't know how it's possible but there seems to be much evidence to prove its feasibility. However there is one crucial detail that I haven't quite figured out."

Sylar stared wordlessly at the doctor as Mohinder brushed past him and returned to his desk to tap away frantically on the computer. "My research has produced results that indicated that Claire possesses a marker, one I discovered in my own trails and what I learned from my father's research. One that resists the Shanti virus, and resides in my blood plus three others I've found. These people had no inheritance of an ability, but were all related to someone who did. The genetic roan cow…"

Claire and Sylar could only stare as Mohinder stood and went all mad scientist; with the pacing and outward musings.

"But I have an ability how could I have this marker?" Claire asked softly. _Freshmen biology had nothing on this stuff._

Sylar narrowed his eyes at the doctor his patience worn thin by this unnecessary and unpleasant detour. "Mohinder we don't have time for this. Some maniac, and trust me I can appreciate the irony, is kidnapping kids with abilities for God knows what reason. He already killed Peter, and made some big show of offing me..."

Claire glanced snidely at Sylar, "Yeah if I did know any better I'd think you had some sadistic copycat."

Mohinder stopped to give Claire a stunned look before staring at Sylar in amazement as a sudden realization hit him like a ton of bricks.. "Do you have a sibling?"

Sylar tore his annoyed gaze from Claire to look incredulously at the doctor. "No. and I'm pretty sure that asshole of a father I had, would have murdered him in his crib if I did." Claire's eyes softened as she remembered the brief account of his father he revealed at the Stanton and furthered at the hospital.

Mohinder began to rifle through his papers again. "How about from your mother? Did she have an ability?"

"I don't know. I really don't remember that much about her." Sylar eyes dropped and he looked at Claire sullenly.

Her heart ached, for a young Gabriel Gray, who lost his mother the worst way possible; murdered in front of him after he was sold like livestock to the woman who raised him. It was her undeniable soft spot for him.

Mohinder chose to ignore their unspoken exchange. "I need to do some more research, but if the culprit has similar DNA we may have some kind of answer. I'll have to dig a little deeper to figure out what that means. If I'm correct the solution isn't in circumstance. It's in the blood"

**0000**

Numb. That's what seeing real evil does to ones senses. Noah paced the darkened confines of this mental and physical prison.

He deserved this one. Deserved the captivity. He killed so many, but it was all to protect those who couldn't protect themselves…. Right? So why was this all his fault? But for his zealousness to shield the world from evil, he created Kurt and to a larger degree Sylar.

He looked at the white padded walls stained with rings of sweat, urine, blood and excrement. The overwhelming smell of bleach burning the hair of his nose.

Long ago Sylar had told him _"The cell you plan for me is the one I'll make you rot in."_ no truer words had ever been spoken. This was the hellhole he planned to keep Sylar in for the rest of his life, just before he took Claire's ability, but now he was stuck here for however long Kurt needed him out of the way.

He slid down the wall and banged his head on the hard batting angrily as Kurt's last words before he woke up here rolled around in his brain,

_And you, my father, there on the sad height,  
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.  
Do not go gentle into that good night.  
__**Rage, rage against the dying of the light.**_

He almost growled as he remembered the evil bastards' last revelation. How did Kurt know so much about everything? How did he know so much about Sylar, and more importantly how did he know so much about Claire?

******000000******

**A/N: Whoo-hoo what do you think? I know a lot of people think they got this figured out, but I love a good unpredictable sci-fi saga.**

**If it wasn't apparent already, I'm a science geek and physics (and more recently genetics) fascinates me to no end, so if a character starts down some technical…blah, blah, blah, it's part of my confidence in certain scientific theories. Thank you all for following me thus far and know that the rollercoaster ride starts with the next chapter. **

**Let the games begin.**

**Lines from **_**Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night**_ **belong to Dylan Thomas.**


	14. The Devil in the Dark

**Volume II**

**Chapter 14 -The Devil in the Dark**

**My Last Breath-Evanescence**

**Brick-Ben Folds**

**Easier to Run-Linkin Park**

**I'm so proud of myself; it only took three weeks to get this up. ;) There is a little time hopping in this chapter so brace yourselves.**

**Everyone is cringing at my S/C common genetic premise, but trust me on this, it will all be revealed in due time.**

**This is the first Chapter of Volume II, but I won't mess up the chapter scheme or start a new story. Just know that the pace will pick up considerably now. **

**Shenkar: When the best laid plans of mice and men conflict and conspire to alter history the product is often disaster. We shape a daily history; living, breathing, dying our lives chiseling a mark on the stone of time. Sometimes this mark is weathered away by the wind and waters of the past, while others carve a score so deep it indelibly marks that rock into posterity. Time may heal all wounds but if time itself is the wound, what salve must be applied?**

**0000**

Mohinder's Lab-New York City, New York

After taking new samples of Claire and Sylar's DNA, Mohinder moved into the sterile lab of the loft leaving the two in the main studio alone.

A mischievous smile spread across Sylar's face and he advanced on Claire. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, he moved behind her affixing her in a tight embrace and began to kiss her neck. "You know we don't have to sit here quietly while we wait."

_To hell with Mohinder and his stupid discoveries. They were no more related than a dog and a peacock._

Claire gave him a pained smile. "I'm really not in the mood."

Sylar rounded in front of her to look into the olive-colored jewels he treasured so much with confusion. Wasn't she the one who thought the whole thing was ridiculous? "Claire you don't believe we're actually related, do you?" he asked brushing aside her long golden curls lovingly.

"No. but with all the fucked up stuff The Company did…who knows?"

Sylar looked thoughtful for a moment as he considered the lengths The Company had gone through to personally tip the gene pool in their favor.

"Hey," he angled up her chin to lock their gazes, "Let's not worry until we know for sure."

Claire's smile remained pinched yet she nodded reluctantly at the man before her— _**her quasi-friend, the only person who really understood her…her lover...**_

_**Wow. **_

_**Sylar was her lover. **_

_**Well not lover per se, as they weren't really in love but it was the most PC way to describe him in this relationship of sorts. Sex buddies just seemed so crude…oh please don't let them be siblings she'd never live it down. Not to mention the fact that her therapy bill would stretch across centuries.**_

Sylar censored his amusement at those thoughts and bestowed a soft kiss to her lips. She looked down demurely and let an aggrieved smile cross her lips. "Okay."

Sylar gave her the briefest of smiles before claiming her lips again, this time a deeper and more passionate meeting. When they pulled back from each other their breathing was deep and the full swirl of desire coursed their bodies.

Claire gave him one of her patented 'everything's okay' smiles to which he responded by taking a tuft of her hair softly between his fingers.

Looking down with sudden self-consciousness, she returned her gaze to him, charmed to see a loving smirk playing on his face. It was a handsome expression and she wished he did it more often. It made him seem more human and less like the monster she likened him to for years. She gave him a more brilliant smile and opened her mouth to tell him so, when the world began to get fuzzy—

_The vision in front of her morphed from Sylar to a flickering television. Panic gripped her as she looked from left to right to determine where she was._

_She was seated in a bright apartment filled from floor to ceiling with books and papers on one wall and delicate porcelain dolls on the other…_

_Shuddering Claire looked down to notice the large chair she sat in was one from her childhood home. She ran her hand over the armrest fondly; it was her favorite chair to loaf in everyday after school. It brought back simpler memories of the countless "couch commando" battles she'd fought with Lyle for control of said chair; cereal and cartoons on Saturday mornings and numerous Muggles muffles…but this chair had been destroyed in the fire caused by Tim Sprague in Costa Verde. _

_How in the hell was it here? _

_In front of her was a large basket of clean white clothes half folded. _

_The sound of two small boys permeated the air as they ran metal toy cars along the carpet making "zoom" and "crash" noises as their tiny vehicles jumped over imaginary ramps._

_She was paralyzed as the images unfolded before her, she wasn't just watching this time. Her body felt light, dizzy and disoriented and she grabbed her head to make the spinning stop. Claire looked up from her shaking hands to see a ghostly figure of herself staring dazedly at her. Shock crossed the ghost Claire's features and they seemed to mimic each other as they touched their limbs to confirm reality. _

_It was like a stage performance, as she went through motions of another person's life, trapped in her own mind and body._

_**Is this what Sylar went through as he lived suppressed in Nathan's psyche for months?**_

_The current reality seemed to lose touch and the present Claire shifted into the Claire sitting in the chair, now completely unaware of here and now. The domestic persona took over and she smiled wholeheartedly at her sons as she folded a pair of tiny white socks. The boys' innocent play marked a moment of normalcy in an otherwise extraordinary life. _

_A knock on the door broke the Norman Rockwell moment and Claire gave the boys an admiring look, as she rose to answer. _

_Unlatching the six locks that secured the apartment front door she laid in on her forgetful husband. "Gabe I tell you all the time, if you put your keys in the same place every time you won't—"_

_She peeked through the peephole out of habit and spotted an unexpected guest— and it wasn't Gabriel. A big smile split her lips as she opened the door for her father, Noah Bennett. He never visited them they always came to see him. Excitedly she opened the last latch, then the door._

"_Dad why didn't you—" She stopped short as she took in her father's appearance. Noah stood in the doorway a pained expression on his face. "Claire-bear, I'm sorry."_

_At that moment she felt the pressure of something puncturing the skin of her neck. She looked at her father horrified at the betrayal as he depressed the plunger on the syringe._

_A team of heavily armed men stormed the apartment and one was headed for her towheaded son. _

"_Johnathan!" she screamed as fringes of black shaded the world. _

_A man picked him up and he squealed in horror. She heard her traitorous father yell "don't hurt them!" as the boy began to cry. She fell to the floor as the tranquilizers finally began to overcome her adrenalin. The men surrounded her small auburn haired son, cowering by the oversized chair, causing him to scream. "Mommy!" while his brother fought futilely against his captors. _

"_Run Aiden. Baby run!" was all Claire could manage as her vision dimmed just in time to see them grab her remaining son. With angry tears further blurring her view the world finally faded to black._

**xxxx**

Claire came to with a shutter. It was at that moment she realized she was on the floor.

Sylar hovered above her with a look of concern and worry. His lips trembled as he noticed her eyes flutter open and a nervous, "Claire, are you okay?" eased past his shaky lips while his hand trailed her face lovingly, she leaned into the touch. Their eyes locked for what seemed like hours and it was the first time she noticed something from him. Something she thought he lacked. _Compassion, empathy...fear._

She moved to get up but he stopped her. "No you need to lie down. You took a big blow to the head."

A scratchy, "Hello, invincible." fell from her lips as she allowed him to stabilize her neck and head.

"I don't care." Sylar retorted with a slight tremor in his voice. A bright light shone in her eyes making her seize a little before she realized Mohinder was now above her.

Claire reached back to where the lump on her head should've been. She knew it wouldn't be there, but it was a habit after fifteen years of injuries to inspect the damage. So it came as a shock when she not only felt the swelling but also a dull ache.

She looked incredulously at Sylar. "There's still a knot."

He looked confused and then realization dawned.

"And it kinda hurts."

Both eyebrows rose on that. She began to squirm in an attempt to rise but his strong arms pushed her back down to the floor. "Claire honey, be still."

Claire gasped gently_. He just called her honey. _

_And it sounded like her dreams—like her Gabriel._ She bit her lip and suppressed tears. It couldn't be. She must still be asleep, trapped in this waking nightmare. She gasped again as the world hazed once more but the vision before her held firm. Something was so wrong about this.

Above her Sylar made a soft scoffing noise. _There it was again. That name. Why was she so hung up on Gabriel Gray? _But his heated inner tirade was cut short as he listened to Claire absorb her surroundings.

_Isaac and Simone's studio— No that didn't feel right. Who was Isaac? Why did she have memories of people she didn't know? _

She shook her head for clarity when none came she laid still and looked into the concerned chocolate pools of her _husband_ and then the panic set in. _Her sons!_

"Aiden and Jonathan, where are they?"

"Who?" Sylar looked entirely confused. Mohinder picked up her arm to check her pulse, eyebrows arched in dismay to her anxious state yet he readied a syringe of what Sylar assumed was a sedative.

"My sons!" she flinched as the needle pierced her skin, the sensation deliciously painful.

"Your sons?" Mohinder exclaimed as he pulled back from the injection to look the frantic young woman in the eye.

"Our sons!" She stated harshly rising to a sitting position, as her eyes locked on Sylar, who had inadvertently released his hold on her due to the shock of that revelation.

"Claire, please lie down." Mohinder scolded as he pushed her down to the floor motioning to Sylar to hold her telekinetically so he could finish his examination, yet she continued undeterred. "You don't understand. My dad…he took them."

"What are you talking about?" Mohinder asked as he looked futilely at the empty syringe of sedative.

"Our babies he took them. Oh my god. He took them." Claire's eyes filled with tears as the loss seemed to punch her right in the gut. Her sons cried for her to save them and she couldn't help them. For all her ability she couldn't save them from her own father.

Sylar stared at the hysterical woman crying on the floor. She had to have a head injury. Sons? _Their sons?_ What the hell was going on?

"Claire it was just a dream. You fainted."

"No!"

"Yes. It was all just a dream."

"No! I was there and _He_ took them." She almost snarled through clenched teeth.

**Yeah she cracked.**

"Gabriel please, we have to hurry there isn't much time." She scrambled to get off the floor when she felt a paralyzing power holding her to the floor while Sylar hovered above her.

Mohinder backed away slowly, the volatile nature of Sylar's unbalance personality revealing itself once more. He had faith Sylar wouldn't hurt Claire but wasn't sure he wouldn't take out his frustration on an innocent bystander.

"Something is going on with you Claire and I'm not sure what it is, but until you get a grip you're going to stay like this."

She gnashed her teeth and glared at him in eerie similarity to the time he held her hostage in an empty classroom. He caught the uncanny nature of the situation and crouched down next to her in the most non- threatening way he could muster given the circumstance.

"You are Claire Bennett…" Sylar began slowly as though speaking to someone with limited mental capacity.

"—Claire Gray!" she corrected.

Sylar's heart swelled as he thought about how nice it would be if that were true. He and Mohinder met each other's concerned gaze and Sylar gulped deeply before responding.

"We're not married, we're barely even friends."

Her face fell in utter devastation. "How can you say that?" She tried to shake her head defiantly but the paralyzed state of her limbs made that impossible. "I love you so much."

Now his heart broke a little and Sylar looked away to avoid the hurt expression in her eyes, and to avoid conveying his fragile emotional state. He fought the urge to let anger take the place of his overwhelming sorrow as her injury and frenzied confession battled for precedence in his already morose state of mind.

Tears leaked out of her eyes as he deliberately avoided her repeated attempts at eye contact. "Well…if you don't care about me, what about our boys?" she asked sadly, tears rolling freely down her face.

"We don't have children."

"We do!"

"No we don't."

"Yes we do. Their names are Aiden and Jonathan Gray. They are three years old they'll be four soon…" she began to sob, "We have to save them Gabe. Please, my dad wants to kill them. He hates you more than he loves me and he's willing to kill our children to get to you." The skeptical look on his face broke her fragile state even further.

"Please. If you don't save our kids I'll hate you for eternity" her tears now ran without restraint and Sylar's throat swelled closed at her suffering.

Mohinder gave the couple a pitying look then rose to leave giving Claire the opportunity to cry without his audience.

Sylar watched him depart with a speechless stare before his attention returned to the weeping woman desperately trying to regain touch with the present. Concentrating on her mind Sylar attempted to push a thought.

**Claire, I don't know where you are but please…come back**.

**0000**

**In a Far Distant Future- Chicago, IL, United Nations of North America **

Matthew Parkman Jr. strolled nervously to the crib under the watchful eye of two Rebellion minions. Shaking his head at the untrusting nature of his own organization he continued undaunted. In the stale, gray stonewalled room a crib was an unexpected sight, but nonetheless a small toddler slept serenely.

Matty smiled softly, realizing that at one time he'd been at peace-a carefree child who didn't even know the danger he was in. Leaning on the railing he watched himself sleep, his mind full of conflict. He was so distracted he barely noticed the hand on his shoulder.

He turned to face the caramel colored man with dark curls. It was the face of a man who was always his friend and protector, but as of late, those descriptors seemed to be fantasies of a time long-ago. "Micah we don't have to do this."

Micah sighed resignedly and waved the two guards away and slipped beside his friend to join him in staring at the sleeping toddler in the crib. "Matty you know it's the only way to save ourselves from our parents. Once they discover what happens in the future ..." he paused leaving the rest unsaid. It was always an unpleasant thought.

Matty didn't respond, and Micah's mouth turned into a tight line as he looked at the baby for the first time in two decades. A warm memory sprung forth as he remembered the times he and Molly babysat for Matty and baby Minoj. Matty had a diaper blitzkrieg and Minoj threw up in Molly's hair. He half chuckled at the memory before recalling the events that led up to it.

The moment was thick and silent before Matty spoke again. "So we allow Kurt to kidnap us all? What then? They're going to turn on _**him**_? You can't just go around kidnapping kids and expect no one to retaliate. They'll figure this out because our parents aren't brainless." Micah raised an eyebrow at Matty's last word knowing he had no idea of the memories that word possessed. "This is stupid and you know it." Matty finished gruffly allowing the fire in his voice to die down considerably. Micah noticed how much Matty looked like his father when he pouted but he held back from mentioning it. It was a sore spot Matty didn't appreciate.

"Look Matty I know how you feel about him, but we need him if we're going to survive this war."

"He's a murderer Micah. He killed my mother. He killed Angela so they'd never find out the truth and he's going to get **us** all killed and he won't bat an eyelash."

"Don't you think I know that?" Micah seethed the blaze of unhinged emotion building and growing as he realized that their destinies were now more uncertain than ever. "But Simon and Minoj have this under control."

"Why can't we just go back tell them? Tell them about the danger."

"Because it will not change anything." An aging Asian man said crisply as he stepped towards the two young apprentices, his face honed with time and regret. "Our fates are already written, all we can alter is _the when_. I have engineered this timeline so that nothing significant will be destroyed. But the course we are on now will save us all." He declared with a hint of foreboding as his gaze landed on the crib.

Matty swallowed hard knowing exactly what he meant. "Why can't you go back to the source? Back to the day it started. Kill everyone involved or even prevent some of them from even existing."

"I have tried that tact before. There are too many butterflies." The older hero stated as the two younger men nodded in concession and said no more.

"Where is Molly?" Hiro inquired stepping toward the crib containing the young embodiment of his godson.

"With our younger selves." Micah replied suddenly anxious in the face of the old man's intense stare at the toddler.

"Have you heard from Justin?" the older man queried further.

The two young men exchanged worried glances. "No. Not for weeks." Micah finally answered confused why Hiro suddenly needed to know where he was.

Hiro Nakamura nodded in acceptance. "Then it has begun."

**0000**

Claire woke in the soft confines of pristine white bedding. Blinking against the darkness around her, she shifted to adjust her eyes. In the corner of the room a dark shadow stirred slightly. Had it not moved when her eyes landed on it she would have thought it a piece of furniture.

"Claire?" came a relieved and breathless whisper. Sylar was on his feet in an instant with a deliberate stalk towards the bed.

She leaned on her elbows and took in the scenery. The walls were adorned with books and more than few large clocks. The muffled sounds of simultaneous ticks filled the room with a hum of eeriness and she allowed her brain to accept a very real fact, she was in Sylar's apartment, the one from her dreams.

The bed dipped as he sat on the edge. "How are you feeling?" Sylar ran long elegant fingers across her forehead tenderly, tucking stray hairs behind her ear.

She gave him a pained and lopsided smile and leaned slightly into the caress. "Okay I guess."

"I thought I lost you for a while back there." His voice shook with barely suppressed emotion and he refused to meet her questing gaze. Claire's throat constricted and she knew in that moment that there was something there, an emotion she didn't want to label. Not yet, maybe not ever.

"What happened?" she shifted to stretch her limbs and for the first time in years felt the pull of every muscle as she moved.

"I –I don't know." Sylar stated pushing frail emotion from his voice.

She nodded. That sentiment was becoming commonplace in her world, as of late. "Why am I here?" she motioned to the room, the unspoken _–and not at Mohinder's,_ wasn't lost on him.

"You needed to rest." He answered simply.

She smiled more easily this time. "Thanks."

He returned her smile yet it dissolved quickly. "Claire, I need to tell you something." His voice deepened to a depressing pitch, filled with apprehension. Claire's tensed as he pulled away and stood with his back facing her.

'What?" Panic struck her as the list of possibilities that earned such a grim tone ran with havoc in her mind?

He seemed to struggle a bit with his words before he turned to look her in the eye.

"Claire…you're pregnant."

**0000**

A nurse giggled mischievously as she snapped a picture of herself and the man lying in Room 212 with her phone. He was a beautiful piece of humanity, tousled brown locks, tall and fit, with the most gorgeous eyes she'd ever seen.

If only he wasn't in a coma.

Sighing heavily she took his stats recording them on her clipboard for the doctor. No sooner had her thoughts wandered to the man's possible sexual prowess, when the doctor arrived.

The new resident, Dr. Coolidge-Petrelli took the chart and smiled at the young nurse who tried to slow her speech to allow the doctor the opportunity to read her lips.

Emma nodded and offered her thanks to the woman who lingered awkwardly to leisurely stare at her favorite patient. Glancing up from her chart, Emma gave the lovestruck nurse an admonishing look before she scurried from the room.

Finally alone, Emma smiled at the young man in the bed, and then sighed as she realized how much this patient reminded her of Peter.

At that thought the baby residing in her abdomen kicked. Emma clutched her full stomach lovingly. "You like that baby? When I think about your daddy?" A series of sharp kicks and fluttering movement was her answer and even though it was completely ridiculous, she knew the baby could understand her.

Rounding the bed to personally check his vitals she mused about the patients' origins. He'd been here for weeks, his condition unchanged. She was kind of glad to have him as her patient as the comatose didn't speak or ask questions. They didn't ask about her speech or attempt to speak louder in hopes she'd understand. They were silently detached and allowed their bodies to tell the story of their lives. It was a poetic tragedy in a sense.

Emma checked his brain waves again for his attending and neurologist writing down her findings, then gave the John Doe the nurses had dubbed "Coma Cutie" a prolonged perusal. She sighed heavily as the bizarre sense that she recognized him from somewhere rolled heavily in her stomach. She hoped it was just heartburn from the cafeteria's latest attempt at chicken cacciatore, but somehow she knew better.

**A/N: Has it gotten weird enough for ya? Hit that little review button to reply.**


	15. The Corbomite Maneuver

**Chapter 15-The Corbomite Maneuver**

**With You-Linkin Park**

**Wonderwall (Acoustic)–Oasis**

**Thank you for the response to the last chapter. It actually got me off my duff to write a little faster so people won't lose focus.**

**One thing I always loved about Heroes was the unpredictability—that feeling you were left with more questions than answers. I know that may leave some baffled, but that's what makes a good tale. If you know what's going to happen you lose interest (hence my aversion to rom-coms. Sorry rom-com lovers.) But it is my duty as a fanfic writer to keep you wanting more and to keep you utterly confused until all the secrets are revealed…and then still.**

**So that being said we are on uncharted territory now….pay attention, the smallest details can be key.**

**0000**

Greg Cavanaugh looked both ways as he slid his hand into the solid glass window without any obstruction. He looked up and nervously glanced around for anyone who may have seen this little stunt. Everyone seemed to walk past blissfully ignorant of the young man with his hand inside the display case.

Smiling at this small victory, he grabbed the device from the glass cabinet and it seamlessly followed his hand out of the solid encasement. Slipping the gadget into his coat slyly, he made his way out of the store. The weather was starting to clear and he looked up towards the sun in appreciation. No sooner than he took his eyes away from the street did a sinister shadow appear in his path, forcing him to almost drop his recent acquisition.

The shadowy man smiled as reassuringly as possible given his menacing countenance. "Did you get it?"

"Yeah." Greg croaked trying to reign in his reaction to the mystifying man's sudden appearance and backed his way into a nearby alley.

Kurt held out his hand for the item in question and Greg promptly handed the device over. As soon as the item touched Kurt's hand a glow emanated from his fingers encompassing the device and slowly crept up his unsuspecting co-conspirators arm.

Greg looked down in horror as he felt the prickling sensation of power as it drained from his body. He didn't have time to react to the feeling as the sense of life leaving his limbs overwhelmed him into unconsciousness.

Kurt gazed at his temporary accomplices limp form on the pavement. He wasn't as concerned about discovery as he was interruption, but nonetheless he slipped the young man into the corner of the darkened alleyway, before gliding into a nearby café and situating himself towards the back.

Finally in possession of one of these primitive devices, he acknowledged that navigating this pad would prove to be a difficult task. These electronics required typing and transcription as speech and thought routing had not yet been developed. _These people were Neanderthals_. Undeterred by that minor inconvenience, he ran a search for his target; Claire.

Smiling to himself he realized how easy his job would be if she were home alone, or at least sans one, potentially powerful man and her equally determined father. Scrolling down the page he discovered the misadventures of Claire Bennett.

He read of her exploits in Central Park a year before, a short lived reality series and her recent reclusiveness in regards to the media in past six months.

After a few more searches he was left with a huge scowl upon realizing she had a fan club of over 200,000 on some idiotic site named Facebook. Finally he saw the article he had been looking for; _Manhattan Mourns the Loss of Socialite and Son_.

Scanning down the document he noticed the address listed for flowers, condolences and donations to charities.

**Petrelli Family Trust**

**468 Madison Ave.**

**Manhattan, New York City, NY**

**c/o Claire Bennett **

So Claire now resided at the Petrelli mansion. _How convenient_. He manipulated the screen and it pulled up a map with directions. It was comforting to know how much had not changed through the years. Smiling with satisfaction he considered paying the woman a long overdue visit.

**000000**

The sound of shattering glass and an enraged scream echoed from the interior of a small windowless bathroom. It had been just over an hour since Claire had locked herself in and taken a vow of silence.

"Claire!" Sylar shouted rising from his seated position on the floor in front of the door.

Silence permeated for several moments and Sylar couldn't take it anymore. "Claire, I'm coming in—"

Before he could finish his sentence the door swung open to reveal a crazed looking blonde. Her hands were covered in blood and she actually looked as though time had suddenly caught up to her in the short hour she had barricaded herself in his tiny bathroom. "YOU!"

Sylar considered her wild expression and took a step back, painting the most sympathetic look on his face.

"YOU rat bastard!"

He looked on, bewildered and blinking rapidly and completely confused by her unexpected fury. He again tried to read her thoughts but her mind blocked his ability. If he wasn't so pissed by her deliberate withdrawal he would've been impressed at her tenacity. But right now he was concerned with her emotional state and the lingering fact that her hands were bloody.

Tears leaked from her eyes and she finally looked at him for the first time since he revealed this bombshell.

Sylar swallowed the lump forming in his throat that was provoked as he stared at her. She looked— broken. Her lip quivered fiercely and her eyes had a distant, resigned gaze.

"Are you okay?" Sylar asked lamely. What else could he say? He had over two hours before she woke to absorb the news and _HE_ was still in shock.

"No I'm not O-KAY!"She drawled angrily, the Texan accent thickening as her fury rose.

"I'm pregnant. With your…you…Oh my god. How far?" her voice dropped towards the end of her rant and she seemed at a loss.

Sylar knew she meant how far along, but short of ultrasound he couldn't be sure. After her manic outburst at Mohinder's; he tried to use his ability to determine what was wrong and if he could fix it, but it seemed nothing was physically "wrong" with her. But after noticing some unusual cell generation he determined the source of her abnormality. _A baby._

A blood test confirmed his assumption, but gestational age was little trickier. However, if he was a betting man he'd conclude around three months, and if he was as omniscience as the many abilities he possessed led him to believe, he would say it occurred that first time they were together, the night that Peter died.

But Claire wasn't in a state of mind to realize that her first time had resulted in an unplanned pregnancy with her former tormentor. So he answered with the only semi-truthful answer he could give her.

"I don't know?"

They stood stalk still and in a wholly uncomfortable silence for several moments, before she remembered an unpleasant detail.

"Oh god!" Claire moaned as her bloodied hands buried her face in apparent mortification.

"What?" Sylar asked his tone clipped, he was fast losing his patience. Not with Claire specifically but with the whole situation, definitely.

"Mohinder said we were…well…you know."

"Mohinder is an idiot." Sylar's jaw ticked as he fought the feeling that he was somehow duplicating a family tradition of dark and trashy pasts.

"No he's not. We played a sick and twisted little game and now I'm going to give birth to something with hooves." The tears were now flowing fresh and free. "I can't believe this." Her fingers clutched at her hair in an anxious reaction. "I'm only 20 and what are you, like 35?"

"Technically I stopped aging at 29." He answered with just a hint of snarkyness. For some reason irritation seemed to be the emotion he was stuck on.

She gave him a look that could've castrated at twenty paces. "And I stopped aging at 16. Wanna try again." Her voice was pure venom and Sylar found her rage completely stimulating, yet pushed away those wayward thoughts. This was so not the time for inappropriate arousal.

"Claire you're just a little emotional. You know pregnancy hormonal stuff."

He knew it was wrong once the words left his mouth and he cringed in preparation for the onslaught.

"Don't do that. Don't you dare, do that!" her tiny finger seemed to drill a hole in his chest as she backed him into a wall.

"Claire I just think you're being a little irrational here." He stated with a fairly patronizing tone as he gripped the tiny finger, and pulled it away from his abused chest.

"Irrational! IRRATIONAL!" She shrieked the last word and her body shook with sudden anger. "You horse's ass. I'm going to have a baby and it's _YOURS_!"

Sylar absorbed the mortification of her tone and only served to arouse him further. If she kept up this self loathing, pity-party he wouldn't be responsible for his hormones made him do. _**Man, he was really one sick puppy.**_

**000000**

Mohinder poured through the handwritten records piled haphazardly on his desk. They were his fathers. The ones he meticulously kept in a safe in India, as he fruitlessly tried to fill the holes in his research and memory. Mohinder had brought them here on his last trip fearful of his mother's crackdown on clutter as of late.

Most of them were too convoluted and chaotic to indicate any real findings; yet one particular file seemed to call for his attention as he shifted the pile into more manageable stacks. Labeled: _Genesis_, the folder looked to be the most complete piece of research in his father's annals.

He opened the file to reveal a stack of scribbled notes containing various graphs and scrawls of DNA and genetic coding. As he flipped through the ridiculously complicated notations, a single piece of aging notepaper slipped out of the stack. It was yellowing and brittle, and bit older than the other paper in the folder. On it he found the names of several people, another list of specials perhaps?

Perplexed he mouthed the handwritten monikers on the evidently randomly compiled list. Each had their names crossed off, except one; a Jonas Zimmerman.

However it wasn't the lack of strikethrough that attracted Mohinder to the name but the word written in parenthesis beside it, _Paragas._ That little detail told him that this individual was possibly the key to understanding who or what was behind these attacks.

Mohinder slid his rolling desk chair to the computer and began to run a search. After eliminating him from his records of specials he concluded he must have been on the research team in Coyote Sands.

He ran a new search in the US whitepages, praying Google wouldn't fail him now. A people search produced over 700 people with the name Zimmerman. After eliminating 300 Zimmerman's based on the initial 'J' and the age on his father's papers alone, he was left with 175 possibilities of Zimmerman's born between 1928-1945. However only 28 seemed viable candidates as they lived closer to New York, his assumed target locale.

After eleven futile calls Mohinder slumped hopelessly on his desk.

In that moment it all caught up to him; Peter's death, Molly and Matty's abduction. Parkman's self induced, near catatonic state, not to mention his estranged girlfriend's pregnancy, which was to include no part of him.

Then there was the matter of Claire and Sylar's _issue_.

He shook his head in frustration. His life wasn't supposed to go this way. He craved the adventure of discovery and having one's life's work appreciated, but the last few years had produced nothing but heartache.

There was more to the kidnapper than just destruction or else he would've killed Matty and Molly instead of taking them. He considered Molly's ability. She would've been able to find him instantly if she had been here. Then he reflected on the people effectively taken out of the picture, Angela had clairvoyance she would've seen the danger coming, Peter could've mimicked his ability, and Matty could've simply disabled his powers. But there was the unknown variable. Who had acted as Sylar and why? It seemed such an unnecessary step given he was seen alive and well within hours of the attack.

After contemplating on these happenings for more time than practical, he gave up trying to figure out the motive and decided his intentions should lie in the capture of the bastard responsible. There were only two numbers left in New York and he inwardly cringed knowing his leads were dwindling.

The next, J. Zimmerman on the list was recently deceased, so recent in fact that Mohinder had actually called during his wake. A feeling of dread arrested his heart momentarily as he thought that of the possibility of the man being his last lead. However, it turned out that this J. Zimmerman turned out to be Jason Zimmerman, semi truck driver from Alfalfa, Oklahoma who relocated to New York after his second failed marriage. It didn't seem like he was the man Mohinder was searching for, but stranger things had happened.

There was one more number listed in New York and Mohinder set his features for the possibility of failure. He dialed the number, and listened to it ring three times before a cheerful, familiar female voice picked up

"Hello?" she enunciated in a crisp, high society, timbre.

Mohinder stalled as he absorbed the reality that he was definitely on the right track. "T-Tracy—?" "This is Mohinder."

There was a moment of hesitation before she replied. "Mo-who….I'm sorry I think you have the wrong number—." He heard the distinct sound of shifting, that preceded the action of one hanging up, and quickly interceded.

"No—no I'm sorry is Jonas Zimmerman in?"

The woman stalled a bit before answering "Uh yeah… " she covered the receiver before announcing, "Dad! Phone!"

Mohinder mouthed the word "Dad" as he heard the approaching footsteps.

"Who is it honey?" a masculine voice asked his tone thick with accent, Mohinder couldn't easily place.

"Some guy named Mo-something!"

The man on the other end chuckled, "so I guess that makes me Curly."

To which the woman replied, "Only if I can be Larry."

They shared a good natured giggle before he finally picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hello Mr. Zimmerman. This is Dr. Mohinder Suresh—"

"Suresh?" the man asked incredulously interrupting the greeting.

"Yes." Mohinder answered as all the hairs stood up on his neck.

"I-I thought you were killed."Zimmerman stammered his breathing elevated enough to be heard over the phone.

"Are you referring to my father? Did you know Chandra?" Mohinder asked excitedly as his emotions shifted to beyond giddy. _**.It. **_

"You're his son?" Zimmerman asked his tone still disbelieving.

"Yes. I was hoping you could fill in some holes I'm experiencing in my research," Mohinder stated hopefully.

"Didn't your father tell you about me?"

There was a pause, before Mohinder replied, "No."

"Dr. Suresh. I don't think I can help you."

He heard that rustling again, the one that was indicative of disconnection and piped up promptly before the phone clicked. "But you must. What do you know about the Paragas sample?"

There was a two second hesitation before Zimmerman spoke again. "How—how do you know about that?"

"What is it?"

"Dr. Suresh I think its best you never call here again." Zimmerman stated briskly before he began to hang up again.

"Either you tell me or I come to your door and get it from you firsthand. There are lives at stake."

"Do you know what the company would do to me if I told you anything?" Zimmerman sounded timid, paranoid even. Mohinder understood the sentiment.

"The company is dead, along with all its founders."

"Arthur?" Zimmerman sounded cynical.

"Years ago."

"There was a long awkward silence before either spoke. "Dr. Suresh I think its best that I meet you somewhere neutral. We have much to discuss."

**00000**

**(The plot thickens…dun, dun, dunnnn….)**


	16. The Doomsday Machine

**Chapter 16-The Doomsday Machine**

**Grey Street-Dave Mathews Band**

**I'm No Good- Amy Winehouse**

**A/N: This chapter is personally my favorite as the chips are literally being laid on the table. Read, enjoy, critique, review.**

**0000**

**Far distant future, Chicago UNNA**

Simon Petrelli stood stiffly at the dark imposing desk in the small corner office afforded by his position as a second generation politician.

Even after unification, the UNNA still heavily relied on its strongest country for much of its governance, and as result many of the laws and tenets of the United States remained intact and that included the legacy of generational politics.

It was getting late, his visitor had yet to arrive and the situation unnerved him visibly. It wasn't like Minoj to miss his brief on the 'Rebel' forces and he couldn't help but wonder what was keeping him.

Folding his arms Simon approached the window of his high rise office overlooking the newly constructed Gabelson tower in downtown Chicago. As capital of the UNNA it was abuzz with activity and noise. However that noise did not disguise the all too familiar shift he felt in the room.

"Monty, I know you're here." he announced to the apparently unoccupied space.

With a chuckle the shimmering visage of his estranged brother materialized.

"Could never fool you, huh?"

The now visible, invisible man walked further into the room and Simon noticed how dirty and worn his clothes were. One might think with his 'gift' he could steal better clothes and no one would be the wiser. Simon said nothing but did turn his nervous demeanor to one of haughty derision as he settled to sit at his desk as though this atypical meeting didn't surprise him. The silence stretched and Monty's jovial mood disintegrated in its span.

"Wow, still not talking to me." Monty stated with a hint of apathetic disbelief.

Simon rose an eyebrow implying the aforementioned was true and tilted his head in hopes his brother would let him in on the purpose of his unwelcome visit.

Monty sat in the chair opposite of the desk and kicked his shoes on the surface, a practice he knew irked his brother to no end. As expected Simon cringed at the shoes now occupying his work surface, but schooled his features to relax.

The silence stretched and Simon grew more agitated as the amused smirk on Monty's face widened further. The elder Petrelli's jaw tightened and Monty knew his brother's patience was wearing thin. It was time he knew the truth behind his stopover.

"We have her."

Simon's head ticked in question, obviously not knowing the direction of his brother's errant thoughts.

"We have _his_ mother." Monty reiterated with a meaningful twist of his lips. Simon barely suppressed a gasp as he looked incredulously at his brother. _**It couldn't be true.**_

"And it gets better." Monty continued undaunted,

"How?" Simon asked mildly, breaking his yearlong stint of silence in light of the recent news.

"Our cousin is still alive." Monty stated as he glared at Simon with a hint of contempt.

The older Petrelli was floored, the likelihood of that was impossible. "He-he can't be. I –we saw him die."

"He is dear brother. But there is only one problem." Monty stated as he stood to place both hands on the desk, hovering menacingly.

"What?" Simon asked ominously with a challenging stare of his own,

"It's not _what_? It's _when._"

**000000000000000**

Dr. Zimmerman rounded the table solemnly and handed Mohinder an old, worn, notebook. Hesitating only a second, the younger scientist accepted the aged pad with complete confusion painted plainly on his face. "What's this?"

"My eternal shame." Dr. Zimmerman said somberly as he landed in a brown leather armchair with an _oomph_.

Mohinder gave the older man a look of bewilderment before opening the time-tinted notepad. On the first page was the scribbled phrase; _**Genesis Project**_

The words seemed to be an afterthought, written in haste and Mohinder looked up the man and his brow creased further, it was the same as his fathers. "Genesis?"

"Please Dr. Suresh, just read. I can't explain the depths of my regret to be involved in this endeavor, but perhaps if you read my notes maybe you will begin to understand that I believed we would be creating a better world."

Mohinder opened to the next page and read the scrawled notes with mounting concern.

_Prospectus: As an expansion of notes provided from the journals of Dr. Chandra Suresh I believe there is a potential to create from birth, a human with inherent special abilities. These abilities should manifest in utero causing the child to possess them from birth_.

_**Nathan**_

_Experimental trials have led to the development of a synthetic disinhibitor that may provide those of latent genetic 'exceptional' ability to manifest. In the name of science we have injected the young son of Arthur and Angela Petrelli, with this disinhibitor. Prior tests suggest the subject must already possess exceptionality gene, for an ability to manifest. _

_Genetically __**normal**__ humans are not affected by injection. _

_(Notes-General)_

_Due to the progression in genetics and embryonic testing we have successfully fertilized the first human embryonic cells. After 64 failed attempts we have effectively manipulated the human genome. We should be able to implant our first human trial via In vetro fertilization_

_**Monroe Triplets**_

_December 27, 1973: Success! First batch of embryos implanted in surrogate mother._

_August 24, 1974: three viable *identical* specimens- perfect control grouping established _

_ (Early test reveal one of the girls lacks a key indicator for enhanced ability)_

_ Test subjects: _

_Nicky-unstable lobe processors possibly a result of tests will conduct further tests_

_Barbara- lack of genetic similarity for ability marker. Puzzling_

_Tracy-strongest and larger of the girls, good cognitive skills –next level to be explored_

_January 16, 1975: Subsequent placement of triplets is successful. Child lacking exceptionality gene will remain in company guardianship in hopes she is simply genetically delayed. The results of this attempt are promising, we will further our research in hopes of narrowing down the gene responsible for early manifestation._

_**Samson Gray (Patient X)**_

_Direct descendant of Adam Monroe has been located. Subject displays the ability to absorb other abilities based on touch, yet with a particularly deadly side effect of total life-force and energy drain of individual. His genetic material will be used to formulate the test sample labeled Paragas- after Dr. Georgeodis Paragas, of the University of Leicester, colleague of_ _Sir Alec Jeffreys _

_The hope of this sampling is that the aggressive nature of his ability can be made dormant and allow future offspring to develop an ability absorbing power that will be painless to others._

_**Baby Boy Dawson**_

_September 25, 1975-Due to their direct line to Adam, genetic interference will not be applied. In accordance to Mr. Linderman wishes the male child will be monitored for his potential to create an innate genetic ability in a control environment._

_(Notes- General)_

_1975: Three unsuccessful experiments in controlled settings have resulted in multiple genetic abnormalities ending in lab termination or miscarriage. Nakamura thinks it is prudent to allow nature to take its course. As a result we have coupled a young lab assistant with Patient X in hopes their pairing will yield better results._

_1976: trials were successful: implantation and expectant full term pregnancy determined._

_**Gabriel**_

_2 June 1977-birth of 1 male at 0543hrs, 7lbs 8 oz, 23in_

_Donor mother: Dacia Rossi (manifested ability: empathy)_

_Donor Father: Patient X_

_January 9,1980: Child possesses no marker that would conclusively identify an ability. Allowing child to remain in care of proxy deemed an undesirable premise. Mother has displayed erratic and unpredictable behaviors and allowance of biological father's involvement is detrimental to project viability. Experimental rearing by natural parents is hereby deemed a failure. Termination proceedings underway._

_July 6, 1980: Child has been permanently removed from parents, through effective, yet undesirable means. However this development will allow the Company to monitor his progress in a candid environment._

_**Peter**_

_1979: Successfully implantation and expectant pregnancy of embryo_

_December 23, 1979-birth 1 male 1620hrs, 8lbs 2oz, 19in_

_Surrogate: Angela Petrelli (manifested ability: clairvoyance)_

_Father; Paragas sample has been combined with that of Arthur Petrelli_

_1985: Subject: Petrelli: Even with genetic engineering for early demonstration, child has exhibited no outward display of aptitude. Subject will remain in care of surrogate until any signs of ability manifest_

_**Daniel**_

_March 26, 1981-birth 1 male 1843hrs, 5lbs 1oz, 16in_

_1981: Due to numerous reservations I hold surrounding the volatility of donor genetic material; I have been removed as lead geneticist on this project. Against my advice, Mr. Linderman has ordered the implantation of two male and three female embryos with the help and cooperation of my successor Dr. Rebecca Fountain._

_Surrogate: Dr. Rebecca Fountain (lead geneticist on project/ manifested ability: wormhole *space/time* creation)_

_Donor fathers: Paragas sample, Daniel Linderman_

_1981: of the five embryos implanted one is viable._

_1982: As expected the rush of implantation has produced various defects in the infant. He is sickly and may possess a mental handicap. He has been removed from home care and returned to the company for monitoring._

_1983: Surrogate mother, Dr. Fountain has fled protective custody with Daniel. Project has been suspended due to numerous setbacks. I have been restored to my previous status a lead geneticist after the escape of Dr. Rebecca Fountain _

_1996: Dr. Fountain located in mental institution, held for murder in New Zealand, child's whereabouts unknown. Based on report from local authorities in NZ child is presumed dead_

_(Notes- General)_

_1985: Robert Bishop has expressed a desire to be involved and to have a child of his own. Due to the numerous liabilities we have employed the assistance of a paid surrogate._

_Donor mother: Meredith Gordon's(a subject in observation) genetic material was used to as all previously donated ovum have reached expiration; however the surrogate mother has been chosen and __well compensated__ for her services_

_Donor father: Robert Bishop (for purposes of scientific integrity we have decided not to include Paragas DNA in this sampling)_

_**Elle**_

_July 18, 1986-birth 1 female 1623hrs, 6lbs 3oz, 20in_

_1990- Elle is being tested for what she has labeled "sparklers in her fingers". It is a remarkable discovery for child this young to manifest. She may hold the key to understanding the manifestation of abilities at a young age. _

_(Notes- General)_

_After several clinical trials the Pargas sample has been made for injection. In trials it has proven to modify molecular structure to match donor material and enhance original configuration._

_Due to the relationship developing between Nathan Petrelli and Subject Gordon we have decided that her involvement will now be voluntary albeit covert. The child shall be the first non direct descendant of patient X injected with the new formula._

_February 1991- Subject Gordon has reported to Nathan that she is pregnant; testing will begin to determine both viability and vitality of the fetus._

_**Claire**_

_August 21, 1991-birth 1 female 2316hrs, 7lbs 9oz, 18in_

_1991: Original genetic plan has been enhanced: mothers will now remain unsuspecting of their involvement in project. Less volatile genetic coding will be used and spliced and combined to create multiple abilities_

_Donor fathers: Nathan Petrelli_

_Surrogate and donor mother: Meredith Gordon (manifested ability-pyrokinesis)_

_Shortly after birth infant was injected with Paragas Sample DNA sequence. There seems to be no rejection of the sequence and bonding is currently taking place. _

_1992: Infant has survived house fire without outside intervention. It appears that her ability is latent yet present._

_1993: Mutations in lab trials of Paragas subjects have produced cancer-like growth in cells, however infants presumed ability to heal has made her immune to those affects. _

_-child has been successfully placed with company agent. The constant parental attachment/intervention predicament should prove less problematic. _

**xxxx**

Mohinder read the data again and tried like hell to stop the shaking of his hands. There were really no words for the depravity of the organization known as "The Company." He wondered how such a respectable geneticist such as Dr. Zimmerman got coerced into helping them make designer babies.

He looked up to the man and his breath caught, and the doctor had the nerve to appear slightly smug. Mohinder suppressed a growl. This flew in the face of several codes of ethics, not to mention basic human rights. "They were all engineered…as a science experiment for you and The Company to amuse yourselves with and destroy as you pleased."

Zimmerman sat on the edge of his seat slightly miffed at Mohinder's reaction. "We never destroyed anyone. We created life."

"You played God." Mohinder seethed.

"We made incredible discoveries. Thanks to our efforts your fathers work was realized. He made all this possible."

Mohinder scoffed. "Do not use my father as a pawn in your immoral plans. You managed to crack the genetic code, yet were inevitably encountered with the _problem_ of individualism. You took children away from their parents, experimented on them, took away their personal choice, cemented their destines before birth." Zimmerman managed to look offended, yet Mohinder continued "You're a monster."

"No! Linderman, Arthur and Nakamura were monsters. Profit, power, and pride. All they wanted was to lord the fact that they could engineer superhumans that could either annihilate or protect if offered the correct price. I was creating life…extraordinary life."

Mohinder shook his head in disagreement the fire dying and becoming a sense disappointment and pity. "While I appreciate that you are responsible for the existence of these people, I am deeply troubled as to your tactics. Your work has created the likes of Sylar and Elle. Your presumptions at social engineering, and child rearing rendered them mentally ill. Experimenting on them, creating unstable households, you set them up for failure."

The doctor sat back and appeared more thoughtful than repentant. "Ahh…yes, Elle and Gabriel. Elle was an unfortunate situation. All that power…what a pity. But Gabriel—you know he was the one I held the least hope in as far as abilities. No laboratory intervention. But he has proven me wrong. His use of those abilities is a bit…troubling, yet I must admit I am impressed at his mastery."

"Are you complementing a murderer?" Mohinder was floored.

"No." Zimmerman stated quietly his tone deflating. "I never intended for any of that to happen. Perhaps if he had been raised by the company he wouldn't have been so…damaged."

Mohinder's lip curled. "I can't believe you still think what you did was okay!"

"What about Peter? Do you think he was a mistake?" Zimmerman challenged with a lift of his brow. Mohinder sat in silence, contemplating the world's fate without Peter's presence. It was a weighty thought. Actually imagining the world without any of them made him slightly ill.

"How about Claire?" the doctor queried again, obviously gloating.

Mohinder dipped deeper into his reflection and Zimmerman interpreted his silence as acceptance.

"Your father would have been proud. It was his greatest dream to—"

"The company took that away from him. Whole decades, insurmountable knowledge, gone in an instant and yet you still defend them." Mohinder could tell what he was doing. Zimmerman wanted to project all these evil deeds on someone else to shoulder the blame, and Mohinder would have no part of it. There was a hairsbreadth of reign on his temper at this point.

"Dr. Suresh. It'll do us no good to split hairs on this issue. These people exist whether good or bad and their survival benefits the world. Think of the progress their births brought to science. Think of the impact." Zimmerman got a self-important look on his face and Mohinder scoffed.

"So you must know who's responsible for the recent kidnappings?"

"Kidnappings?" Jonas asked looking more intrigued than inquisitive.

"You mean to tell me you haven't heard of the abducted children." Mohinder eyebrow rose skeptically.

"No. I had not." Zimmerman stated defiantly as he sat stone-faced, his expression melting into indifference, and Mohinder's grimace intensified.

"Why else would someone abduct them; other than to run experiments? Someone else has to know about them."

"Everyone who could possibly know about Genesis is dead." Zimmerman scoffed.

"Someone else has to be acquainted with this project."

Zimmerman shook his head in denial. "There isn't anyone left."

"What about the doctor? The one in New Zealand."

"You mean Fountain? Fountain is as nutty as fruitcake. She couldn't even tell you her name at this point."

Mohinder stopped to think. "Your notes said her son…they said he was dead. Did you ever confirm that?"

"The courts did. She was convicted in his murder."

"How?" Mohinder asked.

"She threw him into the ocean in front of dozens of witnesses."

Mohinder's brain whirred to a full stop. "Into the ocean?"

"Yes, Rebecca went insane. I concluded it was the fertility treatments she was given.

They were in no way fit to be administered to humans. But Linderman was in a hurry."

"Was there a body recovered?"

"No. But he was a toddler thrown into the Pacific Ocean! To this day can't find whole ships in those depths much less a small child."

"So there's a chance he survived." Mohinder asked with renewed thought.

"Unlikely," was the elder man's flippant reply.

"However unlikely, it's completely possible."

Zimmerman ticked his head in doubt.

"What was Fountain's ability?" Mohinder asked undeterred by the doctor skepticism.

"She could manipulate space and time with small vortexes of temporal distortions, what you in the _Star Trek_ generation would call a wormhole."

"She could create temporal distortions?" Mohinder was shocked into speechlessness.

"Yes quite a remarkable ability. However it was uncertain where that vortex would take you. You could end up in Alaska a year in the past or in Bangladesh two weeks in the future. It was an unstable power but a magnificent one nonetheless."

Zimmerman stopped and looked thoughtfully at his young counterpart. "Dr. Suresh, tell me, what is your ability?"

Mohinder's blood ran cold at the unprovoked question. "What makes you think I have an ability?" he asked suspiciously.

"No one is this interested if they are not personally invested."

The two men seemed to sized each other up for a moment before Mohinder replied boldly, "I don't have one."

"Well I assumed you did, given your sister's propensity." Zimmerman leaned back, seemingly relaxed before continuing. "Her ability had not manifested fully but we concluded it was possibly weather manipulation. Your father once caught her cloud bursting while staring the sky."

Mohinder closed his eyes the sharp pain of the sister he never knew. Her dying of an incurable disease, their father driven mad in his determination to cure her and then find others.

"Did you know her…Shanti?"Mohinder asked with a glimmer of hope that someone would tell him about her.

"No. I only know what your father told me. Quite an astonishing and intelligent little girl."

"I'm sure." Mohinder responded, a little resigned.

"You know your father once told me that the only thing he never understood was _the why_. Why the randomness of genetic variance. Why two unknown people can possess nearly identical coding and one may manifest the other remains dormant for generations. I must say it had perplexed me for decades." He fell silent and gave his young guest a docile look.

Mohinder too quieted and the elderly doctor rose. "Would you like some tea Dr. Suresh?

"Yes. Of course." Mohinder answered remembering his manners.

"Lemon or milk?"

Mohinder gave him a lopsided grin. "Milk."

"Of course." Zimmerman replied with a cordial smile, before departing into the tiny kitchenette of the apartment to steep the tea.

As Mohinder listened to soft clatters of Zimmerman's tea preparations a feeling of angst still tore at him. "Doctor, tell me what would happen if two people carrying a Paragas DNA sequence were to reproduce?" He asked in the senior man's general direction.

"We hypothesized that the likelihood of that was relatively low." was Zimmerman's dismissive reply as the tea kettle clanked onto the hot burner of the stove.

"What if it wasn't?"

There was a pause before Zimmerman stepped out from behind the pillar separating the two rooms, a stunned look on his face. "What do you mean?"

"Gabriel and Claire." Mohinder's stare was penetrating as he watched several emotions chase across the elderly scientists face.

Zimmerman turned his back on his younger guest and Mohinder fighting the horror clawing at his gut at Dr. Zimmerman's reaction. There was poignant pause before the geneticist spoke again.

"Claire and Gabriel represent the next step in human evolution you know." He turned around to face Mohinder again. There was a strange expression on Zimmerman's face that made the hairs on Mohinder's arms stand upright and he swallowed to bat down the growing angst in his throat as the man continued. "They symbolize the advanced leap of combined propensity. Their powers are the ultimate desire of mankind; knowledge of all things and eternal life. Men have killed for that power; whole religions are built around those singular concepts. And in a lab, we singlehandedly created them both. The life _they_ have created is…everything we worked for, the ultimate superhuman. Dr. Suresh, this child will be…" Zimmerman paused as he focused his gaze on his former colleague's youthful son."-Unstoppable."

"What do you mean?"Mohinder asked fighting the stress threatening to make his voice quiver.

"Gabriel and Claire are in essence a pure and concentrated mix of genetic material. The odds of them finding each other, much less mating was incomprehensible, they were placed over 3000 miles apart. Not to mention the age disparity." Zimmerman's voice rose with excitement causing the nerve over Mohinder's eye to twitch in renewed anger.

"You planned on this, didn't you?"

"Not directly, and honestly not for generations. We laid the seeds…but..." it was at that moment the kettle whistled its torrid completion and Zimmerman gave Mohinder an apologetic look, before breaking away to attend to it.

Mohinder stood and backed away towards the door as the short fuse imparted from his ability flared. _This man was nuts!_ He toyed with life and death, experimented on children and reduced the existence of humanity to a vast collection of Petri-dished cells. His hand was inches away from the door when he heard the voice of his host.

"Dr. Suresh where are you going?"

"I think its best I leave."

"Oh but, you haven't had your tea."

Mohinder nodded in acquiesce and returned to his original spot, as Zimmerman set the cups on the table. Taking a small sip, he peered at the doctor in veiled disgust.

When Zimmerman released a satisfied _ahhh,_ like he hadn't just confessed that he'd attempted to play fast-and-loose with human life, Mohinder lost all pretence of decorum. Setting down the delicate cup he declared, "I think it's time I must go."

Zimmerman gave Mohinder a small nod of acceptance and stood in an antiquated gesture of courtesy for departing guests, a small, knowing smile playing on his face. Mohinder stood to leave but all of the sudden he felt unsteady. He stumbled but managed to make it to the door, his hand resting heavily on the knob. He shot the now gloating old man a disbelieving glare before he felt the draining sense of consciousness leave his body.

**000000000**

**A/N: Woo-hoo only a few weeks between chapters! I posted the first chapter of this story a year ago and find it fitting I finished this 16 Chapter today. **

**Not to toot my own horn but I sincerely hoped towards season 4 that the writers would've actually used this angle in the series. **_**Why are there so many random *specials* worldwide, when generations before there were virtually none?**_** I always assumed there had to be some outside intervention, but they never took that approach. Oh well that's why we have fanfic, to explore the unexplored. Anyway I appreciate all the reviews and pointers you give me. It's nice to know people spend their time analyzing my twisted creation. Thank you!**


	17. And the Children Shall Lead

**Chapter 17: And the Children Shall Lead**

**Music:**

**Sideways-Citizen Cope**

**The Dance-Garth Brooks **

**Fixative- David Gray**

A/N: Sorry this took so long but I ran into a weird case of writers block and couldn't decide where I wanted this story to go from here. There were several possibilities some led to somewhat happy endings and others led to devastating ones, kind of like a pick-your-path book. But now I decided that I've decided how this one is going to end the updates should be quicker…I hope. Enjoy.

_**-Humans have an amazing capacity for believing what they choose and excluding that which is painful-Cmdr. Spock**_

_**-Evil does seek to maintain power by suppressing the truth. Cmdr. Spock  
-Or by misleading the innocent Dr. McCoy**_

—_**And the Children Shall Lead, STOS**_

**00000**

**Mt. Sinai Hospital, Manhattan, New York **

Emma held the chart precariously on her enlarged belly. It was becoming quite the shelf these days and she'd actually miss it after she gave birth. Leaving Mr. Newman's side after checking his vitals, she patted his arm in reassurance before informing the nurse of her actions for the day.

Mr. Newman's eyes blinked closed as he listened to the almost rhythmic sound of the deafened doctor's speech.

"You know your voice sounds like music." He said absently as she wrote another detail on his chart. Emma smirked slightly as the colors of his voice illuminated the room while she read his lips.

"You're a determined flirt Mr. Newman. But as you can see I'm very much taken." She poked out her large stomach for the elderly man to see.

"Ahh but only for a while." He gave a mischievous smirk that she readily returned.

"I'll see you after lunch." Emma reassured him as she gathered her charts.

"Any chance I'll get some of the good stuff I smell down the hall?"

Emma could only smile as she watched him speak, Mr. Newman never cared that she was deaf and therefore avoided talking to her out of an antiquated apprehension of her dissimilarity. It was a nice change of pace, one she hadn't felt in a long time. "Not on your healthy heart diet."

He looked a little disappointed but then the smile returned. "Doctor you know you remind me of my late wife. Sweet and loving, always looking out for me…my Charlie. Always smiling. Over sixty years together and never a cross word…" He looked sadly out the window his voice suddenly gone and clearly grieving the great lost love of his life.

Noticing the change in his countenance, Emma gave the older man another heartening touch and left the room her mind filled with cheerless thoughts. Thoughts of the life and years she'd never get with Peter; their wedding, the birthdays for their children, the lazy days of growing old together, still learning about one another, it all made her…disappointed?

_**No,**_ that was too mild a word for what she felt bubbling in her chest. She was actually just downright angry. She'd never get to have that pain of losing a lifelong friend and confidant. Knowing the loss was fleeting and the years spent together were worth any temporary pain at separation. She was just learning about Peter, discovering his annoying habits, his romantic ways, his love and empathy for friends and family—they never got a chance, and she felt cheated. Stifling her tears she made her way to her next patient, hoping that the rest of the day would get better.

**00000**

**Dr. Zimmerman's Rental Apartment, Brooklyn, New York **

He lay there like a heap and Zimmerman could only stare. This Dr. Suresh was too trusting to still be alive thus far. Actually both of the Suresh's were just too gullible for their own damn good. That's probably what happened to Chandra. He most likely placed his trust the wrong person.

Biting his lip he contemplated his next move. Barbara would be home soon and she couldn't see a dead man sprawled on his living room floor going over well. She'd ask too many questions; questions that would compromise his work. His mission was now very clear and he needed to find his other "children".

As he heaved the young and unexpectedly heavy geneticist to his study, he was driven by his elation in the awareness of Gabriel and Claire's coming child. This child would be like a messiah of the next generation and arguably the most powerful person on the planet. He who controlled him would control the world.

Tucking Suresh into the space behind his imposing antique desk, he made sure to secure the door. The drug he gave him would've put down an elephant in seconds, and Suresh should be dead in moments if not already but one could never be too careful.

Gathering his laptop and small overnight bag of clothes and essentials, Jonas tidied the room and washed out the teacups. Stuffing some Piperdine and other tranquilizers into the bag, he gave the space an appraising look for irregularities, then a lingering look to his office. He should be back before anyone noticed an odor and Barbara avoided his office like the plague, so no harm there.

With that thought he wrote a note to his daughter before grabbing his keys.

Finally behind the wheel of his car Zimmerman at last broke his thoughts to consider the chances of Claire and Gabriel even coming into contact in the first place. Among 7.5 billion people in world in over 200 countries and fifty states in this country alone to choose from, the odds tended towards astronomical, and by an approximation on the law of large numbers, it was more likely they would've simultaneously been struck by lightning.

The genetic mutation of the unadulterated form of Paragas DNA in Gabriel was also an amazing tidbit of information. He had no idea that enhancing the original genetic coding of his father's ability would result in this enhanced display of aptitude. However his decapitation propensity was unfortunate, but Zimmerman was sure he could use Gabriel's sadistic behavior to his advantage.

**00000**

**Far Distant Future: Undisclosed location**

It was strange to look at her now. He'd known her since this age but seeing her at thirteen again hit him hard. He'd forgotten the way she looked when she was scared, that childlike stare full of awe, her mischievous manner when she felt safe. But now she sat slumping in the corner of a ten-by-ten cell her head on her knees weeping.

He waved off the guards at the door and walked into the tiny chamber to the sound of her faint crying. He ticked his head in sympathy, his throat thick with shame approaching as cautiously as possible.

She heard his advance a lifted her reddened face to lock sad, crimson rimmed big blue eyes to him."Please take me home."

"I can't do that." He answered in similarly anguished tone.

"Why? Why did you kidnap me?"

"Molly—" he started cautiously.

"Don't— say my name like you know me." She shouted before releasing a choked sob. She then looked up at the single bulb suspended from the crumbling cement ceiling, before asking quietly with a touch of innocent wonder. "Who are you?"

He knew that tone. It was her, I-can-manipulate-you-into-helping-me-by-reveling-enough-about-yourself-so-I-can-use-it-my-advantage voice. He almost smiled. "Mol- you wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

Her face grew redder at his statement and he suddenly felt every bit of the fourteen year old he was when saw this particular expression for the first time."Don't call me that. You don't have the right."

The man swallowed hard his face clearly conveying his pain making a decision to end this situation right then.

"Mol it's me."

"Who?"

"Its me…Micah." He said allowing more of his face to be bathed in the dim lighting.

Molly looked at him with equal parts wonder and fear. "You're lying."

He approached closer and she flinched. Micah closed his eyes in frustration. It was this girl he fell in love with all those years ago, before. Before she lost all the things that made him love her in the first place; her drive, that fighting spirit, her youthful innocence in spite of everything. It was the war that destroyed them. Destroyed everything they built and he'd be damned if he let history repeat itself if he could help it. He wanted her to believe in him again, to understand that he was doing this to save her… to save them. Doing this because he knew his younger self needed her even if he didn't know it yet.

"Molly I want you to know everything I'm doing is for us."

She scooted even deeper into the corner, away from him and now her fear was palpable.

He came even closer and crouched down in front of the shaking girl he took her reluctant hand and gave her a sympathetic look. "I know this may seem weird and creepy to you. But I love you Molly. And I will do anything in my power to protect you."

Her eyes finally met his dark pools and after several loaded seconds she gasped with realization. He took that reaction to mean she knew it was him.

"We just have to get past the next few months and I'll make sure you make it home. I know I'm probably losing my mind with worry right now." He chuckled contemptuously at the thought of his adolescent self worried about her wellbeing. "Mol, all I'm asking you to do is trust me. I know you have no reason to, but I need you to do this for me—for us."

Molly nodded dumbly, the look of amazement still painted on her face. Micah stood and went to the door and caught the somewhat estimating glare in Molly's eyes, before innocent baby blues turned back to his. He forced a smile on his saddened face and she gave him a weak one in return.

It was enough to let him know that what they were doing was the right thing.

**00000**

**Leonard Gray's Apartment Queens, New York**

Claire sat on Sylar's couch in silence, while he leaned on the adjacent wall, his eyes vigilant; watching, waiting for her next reaction. After the whole bleeding hands incident he noticed her regeneration powers were weakened if not disabled altogether. It was enough of a disturbance to make him…anxious.

Claire insisted that she'd found a glass in his bathroom and just squeezed it until it broke out of frustration, but he knew better. He knew that sometimes she found watching herself bleed was a therapeutic comfort, to her wavering psyche. He would call it hedonistic but who was he to judge.

Except the fact that it took a full two hours to mend gave him pause.

Would she try to really hurt herself…or the baby? He'd like to think she wouldn't but who knew what she was thinking right now.

_**Because he sure the hell didn't**__. _

He couldn't get in her mind. She was blocking him somehow. Even as she slept her thoughts were muted to him and it pissed him off like nothing had in a long time.

Finally after three hours of poignant silence she spoke.

"We should go see Mohinder." Claire's voice was hushed and almost meek. Nothing like the determined cheerleader he knew and loved. She sounded so…broken.

"Why?" he asked slightly taken aback, not only at her apparent mildness, but also her distant stare at nothing in particular. It was a vacant stare almost two dimensional, like a notebook scribble come to life in the real world.

"Because he knows more about us than we do." She answered flatly.

Sylar nodded accepting her logic, but he still didn't want Mohinder involved. Somehow whenever he was drawn in, things seemed to suddenly get exponentially worse. The silence went on another five minutes before she spoke again.

"Why aren't I …why am I not… you know getting bigger? Shouldn't pregnant people get bigger or crave pickles and ice cream, you know those weird things that happen when you…you're going to have a baby?" her voice teetered on tears as she looked helplessly at him, obviously still in denial and hoping her rationalizing would prove reality untrue.

"Claire, I don't know why any of that isn't happening."

She nodded in understanding and stared at him openly. He moved closer and she tried not to flinch, yet failed miserably.

"Claire you know I'm not going to hurt you." His voice was tender despite his mood.

"Yeah I know. But I don't trust… _myself_." His lie detector went off and he lifted an eyebrow in disapproval.

"You don't believe that."

"Fine. I don't trust you. I'm going to have a baby with you, and other than our…uh…physical attraction, we don't know each other past serial killer—"

"_**Reformed**_ serial killer." He quipped clearly annoyed.

Claire rolled her eyes at his attempts to make her admit his new path and Sylar stared her down hoping she'd submit.

"Fine._ Reformed_ serial killer. Point is we shouldn't be having…" Claire paused as she remembered the weird vision she had yesterday. The one that felt like she lived it. The one that felt more real than any other, and that thought gave her pause.

"_**Shouldn't**_ what?" Sylar prompted his apprehension mounting with her abrupt silence.

She seemed to struggle to find the words and large tearful eyes met his. "What if I can't keep it safe? You see what's happening lately and all I can do is heal."

"Claire _we _can handle this. It's about you, me and that baby now." He said motioning between them.

"What about Molly and Matty, or have you forgotten about that psychopath that murdered Peter? He's still out there. What if he's after the – " she stopped short not wanting to bring life to that notion by speaking it aloud.

Sylar grimaced despondently at the mention of his dead best friend, and the knowledge that Claire's trepidations were possibly not too far off the mark, but he had much bigger things to worry about like keeping his small family alive. "I don't care about them or vengeance right now. _You_ and the baby are my priority."

Claire gave him a skeptical look. "He already tried to kill you, what am I—_we_ going to do if something happens to you?" she asked protectively cradling the unchanged flat plane her stomach.

Sylar scowled, but let a little hope build as he realized Claire not only wanted him alive, but she wanted him to protect her and their baby. It was a nice reverse on _I will try to kill you for the rest of my life_.

"Your mother or Bennett. They can lookout for you until I kill the son-of-a-bitch."

"No!" she practically screamed, her eyes round with anxiousness. "I don't want either of them involved."

Sylar looked confused his dark eyebrows forming a straight line across his handsome face. "But Bennett can—"

"I said drop it!" Claire's tone was scathing and almost feral.

His face descended into a deep glower as he stared at her with equal parts confusion and irritation. "Claire what's with you?"

Her slim brows knitted together in anger as she stared down her former nemesis. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just _hormonal_!" she spat, throwing his earlier retort back at him.

Sylar's lips thinned as he engaged in a small staring match with Claire, before shaking his head in surrender.

"Fine! So how exactly am I supposed to protect you? Your ability isn't really working right now. I can't just take you with me; he seems to be two steps ahead of us and it might be precisely what he wants. To get me just distracted enough to take us both out. I can't risk it. I won't." Sylar stated indisputably, shaking his head like a stubborn toddler.

"I know." she stated quietly the antagonism on her face dying away and morphing into an eerily wistful expression. "You know I always wanted to be normal, but now that I am. I'm just…"

"Scared." he finished with a knowing look as he stepped closer and allowed his hand to skim the delicate curve of her jaw lovingly.

"Yeah." She answered her face betraying her thoughts as she looked up into his soft brown eyes.

They let a distinct hush fall between them as they pondered the heavy weight of their shared reality.

"I need to call my mother. I haven't talked to her in about a week…She worries." Claire stated with a fake burst of enthusiasm as she smoothed scant tears, she hadn't noticed had fallen from her face.

Sylar's lips twisted mirthlessly at the immediate change of pace. Yet, he wished someone cared enough to worry about him if they hadn't heard from him in a week. Actually chances were if he disappeared for a week most of the people he knew would throw a party. Present company included.

Claire stood woodenly and went towards her bag located on the small dinette table. Pulling out her cell, she gave Sylar a wounded look and pushed the speed dial on her phone.

It rang three times before Sylar picked up the deep southern twang of his new worst nightmare's voice as it pealed through the phone's speakers.

"Claire!"

"Hi mom." Claire exclaimed putting on her best pep squad voice.

"Honey I was just worried sick. You haven't called in days."

"I know and I'm sorry. Things have just…kept coming up."

"I'd imagine. Life in the big city and all. How's Emma?" Sandra asked softly her charm seeming to ooze from the receiver.

"She's good…considering." Claire replied a little distractedly.

Sandra hummed her support for the newly bereaved and expectant mother.

"So… mom I have something I need to tell you."

"What is it honey?" Sandra chirped cheerfully.

Claire heard the distinctive clang of crockery and concluded her mom was cooking. Maybe she should wait for a better time. Like on Sandra deathbed. Nothing like a deathbed confessional of: _Hi mom you know that 40 year old guy that's always hanging around at family functions? Yeah, no he wasn't my best friend, he was my son. Sorry I never told you. It just slipped my mind._ There was long pause and Claire took air in her mouth and released through her nose as the tension and her heart rate increased.

"Claire, honey is everything alright?" Sandra asked softly her voice wavering in an almost perceptive way.

Claire took a deep breath and trying her best to slow her heartbeat to no avail. "Mom…I— I'm…pregnant."

There was a profound silence on the other end as Sandra Bennett absorbed the situation. She was so quiet Claire feared she'd hung up."Mom?"

"Claire… I really don't know what to say? I mean what do you want me to say? You're only 20 years old how are you going to…?" Sandra stopped speaking as her heart suddenly broke and with that her tears. After a few sniffles she finally had the wherewithal to articulate again. "Who is he?" She asked hoping her worst fears would be alleviated by Claire proclaiming some random college boy had indeed fathered her child. But somehow Sandra knew that wasn't the case.

"Mom I'd rather not…"

"._**IT**_!"

Claire paused and looked at Sylar who was now less than five feet away. A look of fear was plain on his face at the harsh tone he heard from the phone. _Imagine that. A super powered serial killer terrified by a simple Texan housewife. Who knew?_

"Sylar." Claire answered with a cringe obviously prepared for the onslaught.

"WHAT!" Sandra practically screamed and Claire held the phone away as her mother tried her best to climb through it with her voice. "Have you totally and completely lost your damn mind?"

"No mom, it… just happened." The last part was finished in a defeated tone, knowing full well pregnancy never just _happens_.

"Did he brainwash you Claire? Did he force you? Did that son-of-a-bitch hurt you?" Sandra asked accusingly as though Sylar was standing in front of her, unaware that he was and heard every contemptuous word.

"No."

"So this child…is…was… _**planned**_?"

"No." Claire denied again this time with a muffled snivel. A profound silence ensued as both women grieved their losses.

"Oh Claire." Sandra finally sighed her voice just a pitch above mourning. "Are you coming home? We can just— I don't know." Sandra paused then sighed resignedly. "It goes against everything I believe in… but you have options sweetheart."

Tears streamed down Claire's face and Sylar moved closer as she clutched the phone tighter. "No. I'm going to have it."

Sylar's jaw ticked angrily as he heard the insinuation of Sandra's words. He wondered if it had been some random _normal_ jerk's baby, if the issue would've even been mentioned. He knew the answer was probably not.

It was because this baby was _his_ that the entire Bennet family would sooner push Claire off a cliff to make her miscarry, than allow her to deliver his child. That had to mean that they hated him more than respecting anything Claire desired and that fact alone was enough to boil his blood with rage. Enough to make him want to _accidentally _leak that conception of this baby was done under their roof, before he convinced Claire to let him take them all out.

"Claire, think about this." Sandra pleaded.

"I have and I'm an adult and I'm going to be a mother soon so it's time I live up to my own actions. I know this might make you mad but…it's what's happening."

Another pause saturated before Sandra's measured, "Honey, I'm not mad…I'm just disappointed."

"I know mom." Claire bit her bottom lip afraid it would tremble right off her face if she didn't.

"What are you going to do?" Sandra said trying to suck up her emotions to allow Claire to rationalize her decision.

"Live here. Have this baby. Get a job. I have the money Angela left. I'll be okay."

"I can come there. Stay with you…"

"No. This is Lyle's senior year. I don't want to disturb that." Claire replied only half serious. Honestly she wanted nothing more than her mother by her side through this.

"Is he…is he going to…does _he_ know?" Sandra asked, contempt dripping from the mention of his existence.

"Yes."

"Is he going to…god Claire I can't believe you could possibly…I thought I taught you better." Her voice was so condemning and disheartened, that Claire couldn't help to let her tears fall full force, to the point that her sobs clogged her throat as she dropped the phone from her ear.

Sylar was already there next to her, absorbing her pain, feeling her distress, wanting nothing more than to crush anyone who dared to make _his_ Claire cry. Sylar took the phone in her hand and let her weep openly in his chest as he looked distastefully at the device that delivered such an unpleasant burden into his apartment. He debated whether just to hang up or allow her mother the privilege of listening to her only daughter's anguished sobs.

Still ever the sadist, he chose the latter. Sandra made her cry she should have to listen to the suffering she caused. He could hear her calling for Claire's attention once again but his fury boiled over until the sound went from muffled to distorted and eventually died under the power of one of his abilities.

_They_ were going to be a family. That's all that mattered. Their parental examples had turned out to be utter disappointments but he wouldn't be to their baby. His child deserved better. Claire deserved better.

He led Claire back to the bedroom and pulled back the covers. She laid down willingly her body still racked with sobs and limp to his handling. He fought the urge to lay down with her and hold her show her the support the so called people who loved her didn't, but he had things to do starting with a plan to neutralize a murderous freak —permanently.

But he never made it past the end of the bed before Claire called to him.

"Sylar?" Her voice waivered so full of sadness and misery that Sylar's heart broke. "Please stay." Her watery green eyes glistened and that gorgeous pouty bottom lip trembled.

He couldn't deny her. Not this, not now. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her back comfortingly. After a few moments of the distant, yet calming small circles on her back he felt a tiny hand snag his. Sylar took this action as her intention of stopping him from further contact before banishing him to the other room. Feeling already rejected, his eyes rose from his feet long enough to catch the way her fingers intertwined with his before she pulled him into herself and towards her back. He went willingly trying to remain neutral and reserved as he minimally touched her, not wanting his attempt at consolation to be misconstrued as a sexual advance. But she eased back into the natural cavern his body created and settled into the gap wiggling to press herself deeper into the heat of his soothing form.

Sylar released a soft exhalation and lay behind her, tucking her small body into his with his palm naturally resting on her stomach. Realization then fascination washed over him and he felt a wave of contentment that even now a tiny child was growing and thriving right underneath the spot where his hand laid.

His child. His future. His family. It was at that instant he promised himself that this child would never want for anything. He would be the best father a child could hope for. He'd give him _this_ world at his feet.

Claire sighed in seeming contentment and for the first time in a long time Sylar felt almost at ease. The seconds ticked on the large grandfather clock on the opposite wall, not even a millisecond off and for one unaffected moment in time, they lay there surrounded by the symphony of the city as it echoed through the windows of the otherwise quiet five-floor walkup.


	18. By Any Other Name

**Chapter 18: By Any Other Name**

**Rated M L/S**

**My muse just wasn't working for me anymore and I considered quitting this fic altogether but then I saw a video on YouTube for Claire/Sylar with the song Love the Way You Lie (I know Eminem isn't really what most people think of for a good Sylaire video) but it's totally brilliant (go see it) and in the absence of my muse inspired me to keep writing. Thank you for all the views and reviews so far, this story will go on.**

**She Will Be Loved-Maroon 5**

**Sunday Morning-Maroon 5**

**(On a Maroon 5 kick lately)**

**000000000**

_Claire pulled at the raised masses of tiny cotton pilling on the over washed sheets. She lay in a semi fetal position because her emotional state wouldn't have allowed any other. _

_A brief knock at the door abruptly pulled her from the doldrums that had plagued her for the past week. She rose slowly to answer it, knowing its deliverer was the only one who could possibly cure her morose emotional state. However upon opening the door she had to suppress the surprised gasp at the sight that greeted her. He stood there silent, looking like he hadn't slept in weeks. His face was severely unshaven, covered in thick stubble, and those gorgeous honey colored eyes she fell for from the start, were puffy and red either from tears or the lack of rest. But nevertheless he was there._

_He seemed uncertain as to what to say and simply remained in the doorway inadvertently shielding the noise of passing cars in the background. _

_In understanding far beyond her years Claire took his hands and led him like a blind man into the room and over to the space's only bed. Gabriel Gray sat down on the moderately disheveled sheets and let his eyes wander around the nondescript walls before he met hers. She stood between his knees while they just stared at each other, both at a loss, the look on her pretty young face was so brave but terrified at the same time. She reminded him of a scared little girl looking for her mother in a crowded store. Then he remembered she wasn't very far from that little girl he imagined in age, and he hated himself all the more._

_Claire moved in a little closer and cupped his face to gaze adoringly into his dark eyes. It was at this moment he observed his seated viewpoint often mirrored her standing one. It wasn't the first time he noticed and it would have been an interesting topic of conversation if it hadn't been for the seriousness of the subject they were about to discuss._

_His hands folded about her tiny waist and he looked at her sincerely. "I—I love you… and you know I'll be here. No matter what." Gabriel managed as his mouth suddenly felt as dry as cotton._

_Claire tried to smile at that, but the muscles in her face hurt too much. Everything about her formally perfect life hurt too much. Gabriel's presence seemed to be her only respite. "My mom tried to take me to a doctor." Claire's head hung low as the tears streamed down her face. "She can't force me. I'm seventeen and I'll be eighteen in a few months..." She trailed off clearly not telling him the entire story as she averted his questing stare._

"_What are you going to do?" his voice waivered despite his best intentions to keep it even. This was what he wanted; it was Claire who had __**made**__ him want it, despite that nagging sensation that told him their whole affair was wrong. _

_She'd already taken the first step. All he had to do is follow and if he could remember that, building his courage wouldn't be so hard._

"_You can come with me and live in New York. I know my place is small but…" Gabriel broke his gaze, his features looked so lost but fiercely concerned and Claire loved him all the more for putting on such false bravado in their earlier phone call. She was freaking out and he sounded so confident. So much more so than he actually was and she needed that. She needed him._

_Their fingers intertwined and Claire bestowed a soft kiss on his lips, actually enjoying the feel of Gabriel's rough stubble on her cheeks, but the sadness on her face remained._

_Gabriel broke their embrace and looked at the floor deliberately avoiding the hurt look on her face. A large part of him felt wretched for allowing this to go on as long as it did. She was losing her family to be with him and she was clearly devastated. She deserved to be happy. She deserved a normal life, with a guy her own age. Someone that could buy her the moon if she asked it, not the meager funds he took home on a watchmaker's salary. He didn't deserve her. He never did. "Sometimes I wish we never met. Your life would've been so much better if you never knew me."_

_Now Claire's sadness turned to irritation. Taking his slim face between her tiny hands she lifted his gaze to hers. "Never wish that! For one, I'd be dead if you hadn't saved me, and two, I don't think I can ever love anyone else as much as I love you. So If I'm not with you, I rather be alone."_

_Gabriel's eyes softened at the young love burning in her eyes. He knew she meant every word. Heck he remembered how he had prayed for months for his high school crush to just brush up against him accidentally in the hall. He'd promised to go to mass every Sunday if she did. She never did and the crush fizzled soon after graduation. Young love was fleeting and fickle. In a few years she'd hate him and herself for this decision. _

"_You're seventeen. What if in a few years you find out I'm not worth it and… you leave." His cheek ticked involuntarily trying to suppress the fragile emotions just beneath the surface. For his part, his love was way too deep to dismiss as puppy love._

_Claire took his hands. For someone so much older than she, he was really more insecure than usual. She often wondered why. "Gabriel you will always be worth anything I have to go through. I don't care about my parents or this weird thing that keeps happening to me. I love you. I'd marry you tomorrow if you asked me." She stated firmly and then bestowed a soft kiss to his lips._

_When she pulled back Gabriel let a small smile grace his features as his hands skimmed her face adoringly, seemingly in disbelief that someone this wonderful loved him so sincerely…and then she grinned. That dazzling grin that told him 'the world be damned, Claire Bennett loved him'. His Claire. The woman that always bestowed a loving smile on him like the world rotated on his say-so. He loved that smile. He loved her. He'd keep on loving her until the day he died if she'd have him. Gabriel's heart skipped a beat. _

_It was time. _

_Giving her a meaningful look he pushed her softly backward on her feet to slide down to his knees in front of her. "How about today?"_

**00000**

**Leonard Gray's Apartment Queens, New York -2011**

Claire woke suddenly with a gush of air taken into her immortal lungs. She blinked sleepily into the filtering light of another New York morning alongside the warm feeling of Sylar's body nestled against her back. Against her better judgment that was screaming for her not to do it, she wedged herself in deeper and his embrace tightened. It was comforting and discomforting at the same time.

That dream had been nice, pleasant even. She didn't even mind the weird proposal that had awoken her. It seemed fitting for _them_. In all honestly, she was more disturbed by _that_ _Claire's _sadness.

It seemed no matter what reality she was in, her life was conflicted. Yet, out of all the people who loved her, _Sylar_ was the only one still at her side in both.

_Who would've thunk it?_

Claire fought the warm tingle of contentment as the hard muscles of his arms seemed to clench tighter in an attempt to shield her from the outside world. And at that moment, Claire lost the ability to care that it was often _he—_ she needed shielding from and allowed herself the pleasure of his presence.

She felt his fingers flutter and noticed his hands splayed protectively over her abdomen. She smiled despite herself and suddenly this situation felt very right, in a way it really shouldn't have.

He felt like home. He felt like comfort. He felt like…_what she'd been missing for a long time. _Sylar of all people had sneaked into the crevices of her heart and somehow become her friend, and…._possibly_ there was room for more. She'd already personally acknowledged her softening towards him, but a baby changed everything.

_Could he have been right that day at the Stanton? Could she really grow to love him?_

Sylar began to stir again but this time the added movements finally woke him. Not wanting to get caught not only enjoying his nearness but almost craving it, Claire closed her eyes quickly pretending to be asleep. Seconds later she felt his intense gaze on her as he stared for what seemed like hours. She heard a hushed sigh and he softly kissed her temple. Brushing aside the golden locks, he laid his head in her hair and began to breathe deeply while his fingers combed lightly though the strands.

Claire repressed a shiver of unexpected satisfaction. His actions felt amazing and not at all as creepy as they should've, so different from the way this touch felt at the Stanton. She lay there allowing his nomadic hands to caress her side lightly, skimming her skin with his fingertips and igniting urges that should've been long sated. His finger stroked the skin of her shoulder and Claire had to subdue the urge to move, however sure the quivering of her skin probably told him everything he needed to know about that unexpected erogenous zone. His fingers continued their quest and now lightly touched the dip between her shoulder blades. That time she couldn't resist the trembling and had the undeniable urge to turn around and confess every one of her previous errant thoughts before devouring his lips (amongst other things).

She physically trembled at that thought. How did he manage to make all her reasons to hate him go away with a single kiss or sidelong glance? She was stronger than this. She was a Petrelli by nature and a Bennett by nurture, and she damn well better start acting like it. Claire sucked in a breath and tried to force herself to remember Meredith's terrified face the last time she saw her…

It didn't work.

She could even picture her. All she could see in her mind's eye was a very nervous Gabriel looking up at her lovingly from a kneeling position on a grungy motel floor.

By now Sylar's lips had joined his hand and were rapidly making a path to the middle of spine, placing wet kisses that were rapidly turning her insides to jelly. She had to stop him before they ended up pants-less yet again.

Letting her eyes flicker open she turned on her back to stop his seduction and a faked a graveled, "Mornin"

Sylar broke off the tantalizing kisses smoothly and moved up to hover above her with a sexy smirk that could've had panties dropping for a 500ft radius. She gave him a small smile in return and he leveled a chaste peck on her lips.

Wanting more, thanks to the urges he had initiated to wake her, she groaned faintly at the absence of ardor she expected from his kiss, knowing she was more than a little crazy for almost begging for it.

Thankfully he was oblivious to her embarrassing thoughts and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear as he softly cupped her face. "You want to go out and get some breakfast? Maybe go get some coff—" he stopped midsentence and cocked his head thoughtfully, remembering what happened the last time they went out. Staring back at her with a humored grin he dropped his head in a self-disparaging laugh that was both adorable and sexy.

_God she was really needed to get away if Sylar was becoming __**adorable**__._

Caught in his infectious amusement, Claire joined the sentiment silently, only offering him a charmed look of warning. _Absolutely NO more cafés! She'd had enough devastating flashbacks to last a lifetime._

Their eyes met in a lingering stare and they both chuckled like old lovers with an inside joke. After a moment she looked away her lashes fluttering demurely as she protested the thought of having lighthearted conversations with a man she had, on more than one occasion, stabbed in the head.

In retrospect it all seemed to be some elaborate form of foreplay. The animosity; the loathing so deep that it eclipsed all feelings of warmth she'd ever felt for anyone else. At one point she had more emotional investment in hating Sylar than she had love her own mother, and that reflection disturbed her even more.

Vengeance as foreplay was an unsettling assertion, even for those dabbling in gray morality.

Seeming to sense her thoughts despite her mysterious yet fortunate ability to block him, he tipped up her chin gently. "This is weird isn't it?"

Claire gave him a look of innocence while her mind reflected the opposite._ What was weird, was how he managed to understand her even when she didn't understand herself._ "Yeah." She answered gently.

"Is it just me or the whole…you know…situation?" Sylar asked sympathetically his face softer than she ever seen_._

_Did he really care?_

"Both." She admitted holding back the tears threatening to fall down her face. _Why did she get so weepy all the sudden? Had to be the hormones?_

Sylar nodded his head in agreement his hands still caressing the angles of her jaw. "Where do we go from here then?"

Claire met his deep brown eyes and suddenly realized how beautiful they were, losing herself in them was easy. Too easy. There was no one to stop her and honestly she really didn't want them to. She contemplated that thought a second longer before responding. "I don't know."

"Claire, I—I don't want to make you think we…" Sylar said suddenly losing the cool, collected, manner that had become his trademark.

The nervous look on his face had shades of the sweet adorkable expression of Gabriel Gray. She almost smiled at that thought. _If only_…"I know."

Sylar cocked his head and his eyes grew dark and penetrating, like he was confounded by the sight of her. Maybe he was. "What are you thinking?"

Claire's eyebrows rose in surprise at the hasty change of pace. It was a first that he didn't know something and it gave her a strong surge of power to know she had an ability he could not control. But he could never know what she was really thinking. He couldn't know how much she wanted him to be Gabriel. How much she wished there was undo button that made every day since he took his first life reverse. How positive she was she could've fallen for _that guy, _a non-descript watchmaker from Queens, over ten years her senior_._ He couldn't know those things. Not now. Not ever. _God, she was so messed up._

"I –I was thinking about my mom— Sandra." Claire lied smoothly hoping it wasn't just his mind reading that was affected by her weird ability canceling. "She loves me you know. More than I thought anyone could love someone that wasn't biologically theirs, but sometimes I think she believes she failed me —Like the apple not only didn't fall far enough from the Petrelli/Gordon tree, but that it began to fester on it branches." It was actually quite an honest lie.

Sylar's eyebrow rose speculatively as a ringing sentiment rolled around in his head. _How do we make love stay?_ "What do you mean?"

"I'm screwed up." Claire almost sobbed as she suddenly realized that she was lying in the bed with serial killer, not only that- he was _her parent's_ killer. She _**was**_ damaged goods.

"In case you have noticed, so am I." Sylar replied with a slight smirk, oblivious to the polarizing thought patterns of Claire's fractured psyche.

"That's my whole point. We're a couple of fucked up individuals."

Sylar faced relaxed and he chuckled coolly. "And?"

"We're having a baby. The two of us. The craziest people on earth are going give birth to some psycho, immortal with my height and an itchy buzz saw finger." Her face looked slightly traumatized and Sylar would have laughed had she not been so serious.

"What if I'm a terrible mother? What if I can't protect…them?" She grazed her stomach protectively and an unexpected wave of nausea hit her. If her vision last week was any indication what she was saying could be prophetic.

"That's why I'm here." He answered his face ticking in annoyance to her constant doubt in their ability to be outstanding parents.

"But what if you weren't? What if something happens to you? Or you just lose it. How am I… what's going to..?" She paused and looked meaningfully at his storming face desperately trying to veil the building anger and rolled over to look blankly at the ceiling. "This situation is impossible. Maybe my mother is right."

Sylar's nose flared angrily and he practically growled as he moved to loom over her pinning her arms to the mattress. "No!"

"You will not…" he paused taking a deep calming breath and turned his head away. The thought of anyone taking his child away now or ever unleashed a fury that even the Hunger couldn't compete with. "I WILL be here."

Claire's searched his face for any tinge of hesitation. He was serious and his face didn't betray any doubt. Her eyes softened, but to him it probably looked like fear. Which in many respects it was.

She envied him really. Sylar was so sure of himself—so ready for something she clearly wasn't. She shifted as she noticed the weight of his body pressing down on her during the silence that hung between them.

Then there it was. That feeling of weightlessness and warmth whenever he and she were together.

Claire bit her lip, finally comprehending the inappropriate position they were in given the weight of their previous conversation. Rekindled tingles of lust flooded her senses as she noticed the sharp outline of his hips as they rested on top of hers.

She was immediately reminded of their last time; the insane feeling of animal magnetism for his body, the compulsion to ease that needy ache he created deep inside her. That need for completion that only he had given her.

He shifted slightly on top of her, his breath heaving and face mere inches away, _so close_. Inadvertently she inhaled the scent that was so uniquely Sylar; masculine, clean and just a touch of dangerous. A small trimmer traversed along her spine as she tried not rub her thighs together.

She let her eyes rise to the glaring pair above her. He wore look of absolute homicidal fury that she had known all too well, but instead of terrifying her like it should've, that look only made her body coil in more desire.

_So damaged. How did he manage to do this to her?_

She took in a swift breath as she realized Sylar must have felt the atmosphere in the room transform as well, because he went from angry to '_lead pipe hard'_ in a matter of seconds.

He looked down at her as thought she was the most bizarre thing he'd ever seen. Then his eyebrows a turned into dark line on his forehead; like it was her fault that he was aroused at the most inappropriate of times.

Seconds ticked by slowly and the sound of harsh breathing permeated the air. Claire never let her wide green eyes grow unfocused from his, fixing him with an unreadable expression. Then suddenly it changed, his face became calm and all his irritation seemed to evaporate just a quickly as it built. His face softened for a moment Claire sensed the shadow of Gabriel pass over his countenance.

A husky, "I'm sorry." Left his mouth and he dipped his head down further to drop a soft kiss on her lips. In the smoothness of longtime lovers, Claire moved her legs from underneath his and allowed him to shift into the unoccupied space the action created with a loud groan.

He rubbed up against her starved body and the feeling was incredible, causing her to flex her hips into his, while mentally chiding herself over this lust filled degeneracy. She didn't know if it was an ability or just his natural prowess, but he brought the sex fiend out of her.

His kisses grew more fervent and dropped down to her neck leaving small bites and rough stubble burns that inflamed her newly re-sensitized skin. A series of embarrassing moans and hisses escaped her lips as his hands caressed the responsive places he found this earlier this morning. Claire's fingers gripped his dark hair pushing and pulling, signaling the direction she wanted him to explore down her chest and he complied eagerly.

Impatient hands slid down her body with abandon. Touching and exploring, relearning every inch of her. She moved so seductively, each movement punctuated with enthusiasm and before long their clothes were a distant afterthought and he shifted deftly over her small form.

She was so tight. Almost too tight. He bit his lip. No matter how many or how little times he'd done this, it all served to intrigue him how it was at this moment that he needed the most control.

Claire looked up at him with a strained smile on her sweet lips before he slid in completely. For some reason this time was different. It wasn't just about sexual release, or emotional emptiness, it was about something more. Something deeper.

_Acquiesce? No. that was too insipid, too weak. There was so much more to them than mere submission. He meant more than that to her. So much more. _

Her excitement faltered as the weight of a painfully obvious truth reverberated in her mind…_she was falling for __**Sylar**__._

**SSSSSSSS**

Sylar watched in fascination as various expressions chased themselves across her pretty face. She was a goddess and she was his.

She lay there motionless, looking at him in sudden shock and he released a dark chuckle. She appeared to be astonished they were at _IT_ yet again. _Cheerleaders_. Gripping her hips he thrust hard into her and it seemed to jolt the dazed look from her face.

She peered up at him in wonder, like she had no idea how he got there. The look dissolved into a knowing smirk that had her devouring his lips and tongue in a dance that almost made his control nonexistent.

Sylar gasped. She was his every fantasy come true. Gorgeous, tight, his and…oh god the way she moved. Sylar had to bite his lip to maintain control as her hips flexed in a motion that made his stomach clench for restraint.

He gripped her waist and pulled her tiny form to sit on his lap, an action that only delved him considerably deeper into her soft center.

Claire gasped at the deeper penetration locking her eyes on his, as he rocked her small frame along his trembling member. Sylar chanced a glance at her face, watching with renewed possessiveness as blonde curls bounced with each undulation. She was so perfect, gorgeous eyes glazed over with passion, swollen pink lips slack as the feeling of an impending orgasm tingled along her spine and best of all she was his.

Vitalized by that sentiment Sylar let his fingers dance along her clit, desperately trying to ignore the way her muscles tightened around him as he stroked. Emerald eyes locked on his, with voracious intent and Sylar had to fight the urge to slam her back down on the mattress and pound her into oblivion.

Instead he bucked into her and Claire's eyes flared with heat. Her hands, that up until this point were gripping his shoulders like he were a rouge rollercoaster, slid along the long lines of his torso down to his hipbones in an attempt to pull him in harder. Then she leaned back bracing her arms behind her as Sylar directed her ride. Seeing her like this, made his temperature hike and his control slip even faster, as Claire began to move with a mysterious experience that spoke of a thousand unlived nights doing just this.

After several moments she leaned up, plastering her sweaty body against his, panting against his ear with each thrust. Her teeth found his earlobe nipping it sharply causing him to groan both in pain and heightened pleasure. She worried his earlobe a little longer, biting sharply on particularly deep stroke before whispering something that seemed out of place given the situation.

"I don't want to be alone either."

Sylar blinked rapidly before he loosely gripped her hair to put her face level with his. He knew what she meant without needing to see it in her eyes, but he just _had_ to see it. Was she really considering the lonesome weight of eternity if she survived the centuries solitary? Was this an invitation?

He crashed his lips down on hers in a kiss that made his own body hum, just then he felt her insides tremble then spasm around him as her head flung back in the full throws of orgasm. Sylar gasped, closing his eyes as he tried to restrain himself. Between her plea-like confession and the butterfly wing tingles beginning to tickle his hardened flesh he was fast losing control. He fisted a mass of golden curls and brought her back up to even his lips with hers, unleashing another soul wrenching kiss that made his insides quiver. He came explosively seconds later, holding her firmly to his hips as his hot cum flooded her already seeded body.

**xxxxxx**

Moments later they lay in the relative silence of the apartment. The only sound that could be heard was harsh ragged, breathing and distant traffic. Out of few times they'd been together, that was by far the most incredible. Sylar could barely breathe and he was lucky to have the gift of coherent thought.

He rolled to his side and took his time lacing their fingers together, before bringing them to his mouth for a sweet kiss."Do you have any idea how amazing you are?"

Claire only smiled weakly in response, her breath still labored.

"Sometimes I just can't believe you're going to be the mother of my child." Sylar whispered as he brought her hand again to his lips for a soft kiss, undaunted by tenseness of her whole body at that comment.

Sylar allowed his mind to wander; he could just see himself up early in the morning cradling a little swaddle with tiny fist eagerly reaching for the prominence of his nose, while Claire watched contentedly from the couch. A warm feeling passed through him at that thought. Fatherhood and the possibly of becoming Claire's _someone_ held a special place in his battered consciousness

But like a thunder on a quiet night Claire crashed through his tender thoughts with forceful disparagement. "Me and you as parents." She chuckled ruefully. "It's almost too ridiculous."

A scowl replaced the post-orgasmic grin he'd been sporting for the past few seconds and he leveled irritated eyes towards her. _Had he been mistaken in her soft request earlier?_ "It's not ridiculous. It's fate."

Claire gave him her best evil glare despite the pleasurable electric-like pulses still cascading her lower body. Closing her eyes against the inner conflict she tried to remember Nathan. Tried remember anyone she could that would tell her what they were doing was wrong. Tell her how she couldn't let Sylar in her heart so easily, no matter how much she wanted to. She needed that voice of Noah Bennett telling her what disaster this would turn out to be. Telling her to look at how much he'd screwed up and he was a _**good**_ father. What would Sylar do to the kid? Probably slaughter a whole kindergarten class because they made fun of their son's undoubtedly hereditary eyebrows.

"So how do you suppose we raise him? You get weekends and holidays, I take the weekdays." Claire asked trying to sound nonchalant despite the obvious horror on her face at the possibility of an eternity's worth of custodial disputes.

Sylar gave her a challenging glare and propped himself on his elbow watching her features from the side. "Why are we not living together?"

"Because you and I _aren't_ together." Claire replied turning to look him in the eye incredulously.

"Then what have we been doing for the past few weeks, not mention two minutes ago?" He asked clearly irritated at how quickly his perfect little world had crumbled under the boot heel of a stubborn cheerleader.

"Being stupid." She stated as she sat up with the blanket covering her naked chest, now flushed with embarrassment and self-deprecation.

"It's not stupid. What we've been through, everyone we've lost…this isn't an accident Claire." Sylar was on the verge of seething, his full lips drawn into a single line. _Claire Bennett was an infuriating crazy person._

"It has to be _cuz _its not on purpose." She said looking at the far wall and trying like hell to believe her own words over the rapid beat of her heart.

"Yes it is. It's always been purposed. It's always been fate. Those dreams, the visions. Don't you understand? We were always meant to be together." His voice held a slight bite that did nothing to conceal the anger at her refusal to accept their destiny.

"Who would plan this?" Claire asked disbelievingly to the wind. The look on face and the sound of her voice was devastated, hollow and the very idea made her insides tremble and not in a good way. The suggestion that they were fated, star-crossed even, made her shutter. _What kind of fucked up universe wanted her to love a serial killer?_

"Someone wiser than we are." Sylar replied with enough vile to end any other conversation.

Claire gave him a withering glare. "Why would _they_ do this? Why would _they _want us together?" she challenged. Lord, knows that the powers that be were often wrong; and in this instance they were devastatingly so.

"I—I don't know?" Sylar replied suddenly at a loss. He was so sure, but there was something, always something that seemed…forced. His penetrating gaze broke from hers and he looked towards the wall with uncertainty.

"That's a first." Claire snapped, not detecting the creeping doubt in Sylar's voice, still too angry at the thought of unknown forces pushing her into his arms. _Where was her choice? What about her dreams? Was her free will that inconsequential? _A tear slid down her face at the loss.

She was so caught up in her pity party she didn't notice the change on her lovers face. Sylar captured the trace liquid, directing her attention to him once more. He wore a softer expression sensing her need for comfort over confrontation. "All I know is that we're stuck together come hell or high water. We've got no one else." He palmed her still flat abdomen and stared meaningfully at her face. "See it anyway you want- fate, or a series of unfortunate events. I for one think it's the best thing that ever happened to us."

"You would." Claire quipped heatedly, not caring that she sounded like a petulant brat.

Sylar leaned into her personal space a little more. "And you don't? I may not be able to read your mind but I know you want a family more than anything else in this world. That the examples you've had thus far have been monumental disappointments. Trust me I know the feeling. But we have a chance to make this one right. So let me be a part of it. Let me be your family, Claire."

Her glower relaxed then flared in the space of a second. "I already _have_ a family." She stated with as much defiance as she could muster but the attempt fell flat as another tear slid down her face.

"One that doesn't seem to be talking to you lately." He stated with a ticked jaw.

Silence permeated for seconds before she responded. "Wow. Low blow." Claire whispered softly as she slipped back down the headboard and into the safety of covers.

Sylar grimaced at his unfiltered candor but continued undeterred. "I want you and me and the baby to live together. We don't have to be _involved _if you don't want it. But, I…wouldn't be opposed to that if you want to." His expression dimmed as he caught the look of panic on her face.

Claire tried to smile, but the attempt was halfhearted. "Sylar..."

He looked down at the freshly tangled sheets in anticipation of her final rejection. He'd promised himself this would be the last time he asked her. He'd even prepared himself for her refusal, but it still hurt like a bitch to know that it was really about to happen.

Claire stared at him at a complete loss. Sylar's face looked so innocent, so open. He wanted this. He loved her…_well as much as he understood love to be_. He wanted to protect her and keep her safe. Not to mention Peter had trusted him. Shouldn't she? She could forgive, but love was off the table.

It was time for that leap of faith Angela has suggested all those months ago. After several loaded moments passed Claire finally spoke the word she never thought she say, "Okay."

His eyes rose to hers, a look of hope plastered across his features but he tread cautiously, setting aside the obvious slight. "Okay?"

Her eyes opened wide upon hearing him repeat it but she nodded unable to vocalize this final step of her ultimate corruption again, and a full onslaught of fresh tears formed in her green orbs. She'd finally took that flying leap, straight to the dark side.

Shock and blinding joy took him over and he let a relieved half chuckle, half breath escape before crushing his lips against hers. He pressed her back down on the mattress and his hands cupped her face possessively. She was his. Ever so much more than the physical and she was agreeing to stay.

Claire Bennett was going to have his child and they were going to be a family. All this good fortune made him so lightheaded he almost passed out. He leaned back in to kiss her disregarding the fact that just moments ago they both had an orgasm, so powerful that it had bordered on pain.

The kiss was soul wrenching, full of promises and unspoken declarations. It was contractual, importing more significance than solemn vows in wedding white could ever suggest. It spoke of commitment and companionship, duality and alliance, but most significantly, they both knew that in a union between them 'till death do us part' was a moment neither could fathom.

**I appreciate all of you that have been hanging on, reviewing, reading and adding to favorites. I love hearing from you. It really makes my day.**


	19. Requiem for Methuselah

**Chapter 19- Requiem for Methuselah**

**To All: Thank you for your continued following of this story. If it wasn't for all of your favorites, alerts and reviews I would've quit months ago.**

**If you've never seen this episode of Star Trek, trust me it's worth 51 minutes of your time. I'm not just saying that because the woman Kirk falls hopelessly in love with shares the same first name with me (it's just a bonus). Anyway, if you have seen it you know that Alexander the Great, Lazarus, Leonardo DaVinci, Johannes Brahms, King Solomon, Merlin, Methuselah, and Reginald Pollack all had something significant in common. ;)**

**Shenkar: Is time a constant? Can we change our circumstance if we alter the variables, or are we doomed to repeat our mistakes unless there is catalyst to diverge the outcomes? **

**00000**

**Dr. Zimmerman's Rental Apartment, Brooklyn, New York **

Mohinder twitched as he felt the tickle of cool air on his face. His eyes felt heavy and his body like lead. He managed to roll over on his back and felt every pull of his long underused muscles. This seemed to happen every time he was knocked out. _Really, you'd think he'd learn about drinking strange drinks by now._

Sitting up he noticed the pain throbbing through his head was excruciating. So much so that he let out a loud yelp and fell back prone. When he looked up he noticed a very familiar blonde standing in the doorway with a smug smirk.

"Tracy?" Mohinder blinked twice in disbelief. How could she have possibly known he was here?

She smiled a little mischievously."Barbara."

"What?" Mohinder managed his throbbing head a blur.

"My name. It's Barbara." The blonde replied leaning on the doorframe.

Mohinder cocked his head to debate, before he remembered that there were more than one of those notorious test tube triplets still living. Palming his head he tried pitifully to sit up. "Oh. Sorry you look like… someone I know."

"I get that…a lot." Barbara stated knowingly with a cross of her arms. "So Dr. Suresh I take?" Mohinder's eyes grew wide and he stared at her a little awestruck and she quirked her smile in triumph.

"How did you—"

"Dr. Suresh you don't believe I could live with Jonas Zimmerman for thirty years and not know about his skeletons?" her eyes twinkled mischievously and Mohinder blinked in surprise.

"No. I guess not." he managed and he tried to rollover despite the pangs of nausea telling him to stay down.

"You however are the most interesting aspect of my father's plan. You're a geneticist like him right?" Barbara moved to block the door with her body, in a conscious effort to detain the incapacitated man in case he tried to escape.

"Yes." he answered leadingly hoping she would elaborate on the apparent curiosity she had in him.

"Then why did he try to kill you? And more importantly why aren't you dead?" she asked inquisitively.

"Kill me?" Mohinder took in the suggestive expression on her face and understood she was not joking. "I don't know? He showed me his notes. The ones about all the research then I woke up here." his face screwed up in confusion and hers in musing.

Barbara then pursed her lips disapprovingly. "Then I guess the question is why did he _**need**_ you dead?"

"I –don't know. Maybe he was scared I'd spill his secrets." He looked seriously at the blond not believing his own ears. "He tried to kill me?"

"I'm pretty sure any normal person would've been decomposing by now." She said fingering a small vial. "I found his Trip. He's getting a little careless in his old age."

Mohinder raised an impressed eyebrow.

Barbara sauntered to his side and gave him a lopsided grin. It was startling expression. He'd seen that look on Nicki and Tracy too many times to count, but on Barbara it was somehow different and beautiful.

"We have to stop him you know." Barbara said as she checked his pulse with the ease of a medical professional.

'Why…What's going on?" Mohinder stuttered dazed by the rapidity of events and the fact that the lovely stranger in front of him was touching him with such care.

"I know he went looking for a pregnant girl." She replied as she wedged her arm around his to help him sit up fully.

Mohinder's eyes went wide. "How do you know that?"

Barbara looked skeptically at the scientist then released a distressed breath. "Because he took fetoscope, and a couple of incapacitating drugs. I know there's a girl out there that probably doesn't know the depths my dad would go to prove his research. But I for one don't want any more blood on my conscience."

There was only one person the aging scientist could possibly be after. Mohinder frowned as a heavy weight settled in his stomach. He felt entirely responsible for leading Zimmerman right to her; he only hoped Sylar had the sense to know she was in danger.

**000000**

He hated waiting. It seemed as if he had waited a lifetime for the events that were happening to come to fruition. In actuality he had, many times over. Each move painstakingly chosen, each second exact.

Kurt popped his neck of the tension coiling it and allowed his legs a hearty stretch. Finding her was easy now that he knew how his involvement changed the parameters of the game. He laid back on the plush chaise in the ornately decorated parlor, taking in the decadence that should've been his.

Arthur never deserved any of this, that sniveling jealous bastard. And Angela…hah that bitch was laughable. She thought she knew so much and in the end she died just like all the others. He always hated precogs; their paradoxical deaths forever baffled him.

Now all that was left was the wait, and lord knew he hated postponing the inevitable.

If that Japanese nutjob had been here, he would've been done with charade weeks ago. But as it was the man had gone 'missing' in this time and he was fixed, _HERE_…waiting.

Damn those sneaky Carcs in the rebellion. They'd made it harder for him to function in this primitive time of bearskins and stone knives.

Taking the Walker girl and somehow concealing the younger persona of that idiotic time tyrant. However that move had unwittingly set up the most important persons to their movement to fall right into his hands. All of his nemesis's were still children and he'd have influence over them their parents long before any of them even hit puberty, all he had to do was wait.

Too bad he hated waiting.

**00000**

RINGGG

There was a loud noise from the other side of the Plexiglas partition, and Noah Bennett leaned up from his prone position on the stained batting to stare blurrily at his one-way mirrored image. His eyes were red and crusted from the lack of peaceful sleep and the absence of his glasses. Banging his head on the wall in frustration he let out a pained groan before sighing resignedly.

RINGGG

There it was again.

That ringing-that sound that heralded the existence of someone other than himself in this foamed prison. He moved against the wall and stumbled to a stand as he staggered to the window. Banging his head on the unbreakable material, in an attempt to insist someone paid attention to his exploits, he yelled in vain.

How long had he been here? A month? A year? Time seemed to have no bearing with reality in this place. More troubling was that he was sure he hadn't eaten or had anything to drink in days.

RINGGG

Again the sound pealed through the space, louder and more persistent than the one before it. After a few more minutes of desperate screams into the soundproof partition, Noah slid down the wall under the window upon realizing his pleas would go unanswered.

RINGGG

This time the sound was more pronounced and nearby. Noah opened his eyes only to discover the pallid walls were gone. Darkness had replaced them and he realized he was lying down. He palmed his throbbing head and took in his surroundings.

It was his apartment. He had to be under the influence of someone's mind-fuck _or_ he'd finally cracked.

In complete disbelief he looked up, searching for the tell-tale split in the ceiling he made while installing a fan last year.

It was there. But that didn't allay his fears, that meant this place was of his own mind's making and that sucked more than someone else's interference.

So it was all a dream?

It couldn't have been.

RINGGG

His attention was now pulled to the reason he'd responded in the first place, the ringing. Blinking rapidly he searched for the source before his attention landed on the modest writing desk in the corner of his room. A small phone danced and illuminated creating a jig of sorts as it vibrated across the surface. Still a bit skeptical, Noah sat up. The head rush was an unpleasant side-effect but nonetheless welcome as he felt as though his body hadn't moved in ages.

Padding across the carpeted floor he snatched up the device that had since stopped ringing.

**53 missed calls**

He didn't even think it could record that high. _How long had he been out?_ Clicking the menu option his eyes grew wide as he noted the identity of the latest caller.

_Sandra._

**0000000**

Jonas Zimmerman watched in wonder as the couple approached the small diner and slipped inside. They seemed an impossible match with a foot of height difference between them, not to mention her pubescent appearance countering his very adult stubble with the cheerful and menacing countenances on their faces.

It had been two days since he began tracking them and he found a very interesting habit exhibit itself in Gabriel. A habit he noticed during his observation of the man that sired him.

Chuckling to himself, the doctor's smile only widened. Nature trumped nurture so often he wasn't sure it was even a debatable theorem. He'd get to Gabriel the way he got to Samson, but on this occasion he had experience on his side.

The girl on the other hand was trickier. Regeneration was an ability not easily suppressed, but somehow it had to be done. The child she carried was of great importance to his research and possibly the evolving world, permanently tipping the balance of the humanity. The only question was; which way would it tilt.

**0000000**

Claire gave the waitress an appreciative grin as she took their menus, then looked across the table at her companion with a knowing smirk.

"Whipped cream and waffles? Really? What are you five?" she asked playfully while toying with the salt shaker. It felt good to be normal with him, to tease him, to have someone, even if it was him.

"I like waffles." Sylar objected stubbornly to her allegation, sounding ironically like a protesting child, cementing the image with a huff and dejected lean back toward the bench.

She lifted an amused eyebrow and smiled at that. She liked them too; they made her think of simpler times, times before the running, before her ability; times when she, her mother and Mr. Muggles sat in the kitchen on a lazy Saturday making them. When life was ordinary and her mother loved her and her father was presumably lying to protect them, not to prevent them from leaving. Claire's heart broke a little as she thought of her mother. Just when she thought her crappy destiny would change…

She looked up just in time to notice the expression on Sylar's handsome face; it was screwed into one of pensive study and directed solely at her. She knew that look. It haunted her dreams for three years and more recently her fantasies. But it seemed vastly out of place in the frantic atmosphere of the busy eatery.

"Wanna picture? It'll last longer." She quipped.

Sylar grimaced at her poor grammar and miserable attempt at humor, but recovered quickly his face softening to slight awe at his… well…_girlfriend?_

"Why can't I read you? All the other people in this diner are screaming at my mind. Their thoughts a tangled jumble of bad decisions and even worse actions, but you…it's like a black hole…There's nothing there." His lips pursed in confusion and he just stared harder, like he was trying to figure out a three-dimensional chessboard.

Claire gazed at him confoundedly, noticing the seriousness of his tone. Things couldn't get heavy here. She couldn't handle another flashback, especially one like the last one. Putting on a humorous front she gave him her best cheerleader charm and added a giggle for effect. "Oh thanks for calling me a dumb blonde. Way to get in my pants." She teased

Sylar's expression turned sardonic and Claire laughed. He was kind of cute when he was annoyed…

_Oh god did I just think he's cute? Bad Claire, so very bad. _

She knew he was sexy because she wanted to rip his clothes off 99% of the time. But cute is a whole different category. Cute meant adoration, and adoration means like. And in every case of like with her, it always gave way to something more powerful in very little time.

In short Sylar just couldn't be cute. She couldn't give in everything that easily.

"Like now." Sylar exclaimed after the prolonged silence and far off stare Claire unknowingly painted on her pretty face.

"What?" Claire exclaimed broken from her side-thoughts.

"You have these looks on your face and I can tell you're thinking about something important but there's nothing." Sylar alleged with a distinct hint of frustration.

"Maybe it's time you were in a relationship where you didn't know everything." Claire whispered back in jest.

Sylar gave her a penetrating glare and then a smile crossed his face. "We're in a relationship."

"I thought we already established that." Claire stated with a bit of irritation.

"We did. I just like to hear you say it."

Claire let a genuine smile cross her lips and took a hold of his hand. It felt more natural to do so now, even more so than before, but something still plagued her and she had a feeling it was something big. Letting her gaze wander to the window she locked eyes with an elderly man in an old Buick. His expression was dark and piercing, seemingly intent on staring her down from 200 feet away. _Had he been following her?_

"Sylar have you noticed that old man in the car outside?" she asked quietly, her eyes never leaving the aged man.

Sylar smirked. _That's his girl_. "Of course. I make it a point to observe my surroundings."

"What do you think he's doing?" Claire asked as a pang of fear crept up her spine.

Sylar cocked his head thoughtfully, listening in on the man's thoughts but only understanding a few words, as the man's thoughts processed in German. "I think he's looking for you."

"What? Like the paparazzi?" Claire sank in her chair trying like hell to become invisible, she thought that idiotic point in her life was over.

Sylar exhaled dejectedly_. Guess he gave the cheerleader too much credit. _"No. Like the company."

"The company? But everyone is dead." Claire stated looking at him strangely.

"Says who?" he countered to her obvious naiveté.

"Says my father." she answered, trailing off with the afterthought that was the weakest of weak arguments.

"And you believed that? When's the last time you talked to him?"

"It—It's been a few months. You know the day Peter…" she started still unable to bring herself to say it.

Sylar nodded as he too felt the ache. After all, this was Peter's favorite diner. They came here on Sunday's to shoot the breeze and fight over their growing football rivalry as Giants and Jets fans, often enlisting the help of fellow patrons to settle the score. They had developed quite a familiarity in the short 'real' year they were together. It was nice to have a friend. It was nicer to have a brother, even if he was stolen.

_So many losses. _

All he had left was Claire and he couldn't lose her. It would break him, ever so much more than he was before. Whoever was after them was methodical. They hadn't made a move in weeks and until yesterday he was beginning to think they might have been in the clear, at least for now.

Then today Micah sent Claire a text on a secure channel that Emma would be induced in two days and a small contingent of former Sullivan Carnies would be there in case anything went down.

That just didn't sit right with him. Too much could go wrong. Too many specials in one place always seemed to spell disaster. So it seemed it became his duty to be Emma's personal guard if the unspeakable came to fruition.

He didn't want Claire there in case it did go to shit, but he didn't trust leaving her with anyone, so she had to come. No matter what he would be there to protect his best friend's child, his godson. He owed it to Peter to look after his family, yet the appearance of the man outside seemed to kick his trademark paranoia into high gear.

Who was he and what did he want?

**000000**

Claire. Pregnant. Sylar. Father.

Noah was only capable of single word statements at this point, but these words made the back of his eyes hurt.

His foot lay heavier on the pedal and he watched the needle on the odometer fly past 80.

Weaving around two slower cars and a semi, Noah gunned his way down the 495 in a blind rage. He knew his speed would likely attract attention but he was beyond caring.

After his conversation with Sandra his sanity was now on a permanent vacation.

That bastard had impregnated Claire and the asshole he'd been in semi-cahoots with had known. And now that he was allowed the ability of his own thoughts Noah could've sworn Kurt had orchestrated the whole thing himself.

He never trusted him, but he had severely underestimated the man's power. Up until then his only concern had been Sylar, but now he knew better. There were worse and more terrifying things out there and Kurt was just the beginning of what was to come.

Weaving his way down the teeming streets, without the hindrance of law enforcement, Noah parked his car in front of Claire's apartment.

Glancing around in a truly anxious agent fashion, he scanned for misnomers before turning off the engine.

Spotting none, he exited hesitantly, his limbs still not recovered from the induced coma he's been in. After talking to Sandra he found that he had not been responding to calls for months, but every time anyone was sent to check, someone posing as him, had assured them all was well. Kurt had to have an ability greater than Parkman's and Rene's combined at his disposal. No one else could've pulled off a mind violation like that for that long.

Noah knocked gingerly on the door of Claire's apartment. There was no answer.

"Claire it's me. Please honey we need to talk."

Still there was silence.

Noah unholstered his SW9VESmith &Wesson readying himself for anything he might find on the other side of that door. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of movement. "Claire?"

The shuffling grew closer and his hand tightened on the grip. The door opened to reveal a tall redhead absentmindedly babbling on her cell about keeping martini glasses, before spying his ready weapon.

The phone fell from her grasp crashing the floor in pieces as she backed away with a muted look of horror.

"I'm sorry. I-I'm looking for Claire." Noah sputtered thinking how stupid he was not to locate René first, yet still not lowering the pistol.

"Why? Are you going to kill her? Ohmigod! OMIGOD! HELP! HELLLLPPP!" The girl screamed hysterically backing into the room, knocking over furniture to create an obstacle course for her 'attacker' and fervently hoping the neighbors would hear her cries.

"Please no-no. I'm her father. I thought she was in trouble." Noah said stepping into the apartment and away from the hall, closing the door behind him. He began to slowly reholster his weapon, hoping it would dispel the panic in the girl's eyes. "Look I'm not going to hurt you. I just wanted to talk to Claire."

The girl backed up against the counter, tears and panic gripping her. "She—She moved out— and sublet me this place. I don't know where she lives." The girl ran around the breakfast bar to put an object between herself and her assumed attacker. "Please don't hurt me. I don't have any money. Please" The redhead was now sobbing uncontrollably and apparently looking for a knife not fashioned for butter.

"Why did you open the door for a stranger? This is New York!" Noah chastised as his fatherly instinct kicked in. She wasn't his daughter but she was someone's and that someone should taught her better than to open doors for strangers.

"I thought you were her boyfriend he came by yesterday to get some stuff for her."

Noah grimaced and the young woman cringed at his irritation, before adding. "It's all I know please don't kill me." She held up a knife that seemed better suited for paring apples.

Noah shook his head at the deteriorating negotiations with the girl that was likely going to be his only clue to finding his daughter. "Her _boyfriend_ is very bad person and I need to find her. She might be in danger. He has—a really bad temper." She gave him an unconvinced look to which Noah quirked his lips in irritation. "So if you hear from her or _him_ please call me. Here's my number. He laid a business card on the nearby lamp table and gave her what he hoped was a disarming smile. "I'm sorry I scared you…" he leaned his head in question hoping she'd provide her unmentioned name.

"Sammy." She managed hoping if he knew her name it would humanize her to the intruder. Her fear was so strong she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Sammy. I'm sorry about the whole gun thing. It's a dangerous city and my Claire is a really innocent, little…_woman_…Sorry." Noah backed out the apartment and paused dejectedly in the hall where a disapproving elderly lady stood eying him speculatively.

He gave her a forced smile and mumbled an explanation about being in the wrong apartment before hurrying down the stairs, dread tearing in his chest. He was running out of time and for the first time his quarry was his own daughter. There was no doubt Sammy was going to call the police or Claire but either way he needed to find her first.

**00000000**

Kurt watched as Bennett crossed the street and hailed a taxi. Observing the obvious fact that since he'd left his car parked around the corner Noah intended on returning to this place. Kurt leaned back in the seat with a heavy sigh of satisfaction.

The world was going to change dramatically in the next forty-eight hours.

So much of the history he knew had already changed, but the major points were rooted in stone. A birth in the next two days signaled the beginning of a revolution, and with the child's father out of the way, half of the history as he knew it would be rewritten. And even more rewarding was that Noah Bennett was unwittingly the key to turning this event into the moment it needed to be.

Had he been a religious man Kurt would've labeled Bennett as the King Herod to the upcoming proceedings, the perfect catalyst to start the new world order and the perfect scapegoat for Kurt's fledgling flock.

It was ironic how a former used car salesman would wield so much power over history. Kurt chuckled at the errant thought. All the power he held now and in the future was dependant on the pride of a father and his inability to believe in his own daughter.


	20. That Which Survives

**Chapter 20 -That Which Survives**

**This chapter is rated M for language.**

**Music**

**Hero Factor-Halfway to Nowhere**

**Set Fire to the Rain-Adele**

_**Shenkar**_

_What is the price of righteousness? Can our passions be tamed if all rewards are nigh? That which dwells in a man that survives the turmoil of a life, long lived under the heel, can be easily traced to strong resolve and mind. The body is after all a mere vessel with corporal constraints, but when combined with the power of the mind progresses into the ultimate achievement of existence. We fight to live, we struggle to stay alive, and we battle our impending demise. But the struggle is the precipice of our continuation, the trademark of our species—the will to survive._

**000000**

**Far Distant Future-Senator Simon Petrelli's Office- Chicago, UNNA**

Senator Simon Petrelli stared at his 11 o'clock appointment for a long moment lips pursed in such an expression of dedication, that had anyone who knew his father been in the room, they would've swore he was a clone.

Finally after several moments of pause he spoke leveling a pensive look at his late morning companion.

"Doctor what would you say if I told you that Pete was alive." He stated with a wag of his long finger at the caramel colored man sitting opposite of his desk.

"I'd say it was impossible. We both saw him die." Minoj supposed shifting uncomfortably. He still wasn't ready to talk about the loss of his best friend. That particular wound was still too fresh.

"But what if what we saw was an illusion?"

Minoj ticked his head in speculation. "It's possible. But…who would trick us into believing he was dead? We saw him disintegrate, the ashes. We were both there Simon. He's dead."

Simon rounded the corner of his desk to sit on the end a finger propped under his lip. His thoughts running deeper than his expression allowed. "What if that's what Pete wanted? What if he wanted the world to think he was dead?"

"Why would he want to do that?" Minoj questioned with just a bit of outrage.

"What if he had to?"

"Why? And why not tell us. Why not tell me?"

"Maybe he couldn't."

"I was his best friend."

"Maybe everyone needed to see him die. Even you."

"Senator this is…impossible. You're speaking in hypotheticals."

"Is it Dr. Suresh? Don't you realize the world we live in is unfathomable by all standards as recently as fifty years ago. Why is Pete's being alive so hard to believe?"

There was a silence that spoke volumes as both men absorbed that very real fact.

"No I guess it isn't."Minoj considered with a hint of submission just as Simon's CBS began to vibrate.

Simon walked over to a thin electronic pad, touched it, then concentrated, conveying a quick note to the message he just received before regarding his guest again with a grimace.

"Kurt's interference is painted all over this. To make matters worse, I think he's after the Emperor." He clicked pad to prove his point, and a holographic image of the message he just replied to appeared, and sure enough it was from UNNA Empire Defense and Detection Office.

Minoj's eyebrows hiked up his forehead in surprise. "There's no way. How can he? There not enough abilities in the world to take the Emperor and his army on. Remember what happened during unification. Besides the people around him would neutralize Kurt on sight."

"What if he got to him when he was vulnerable?"

"He's never vulnerable." Minoj countered with just a sliver of fear. The peace afforded to the UNNA after the last international conflict was fragile at best. Upsetting that balance and plunging the world into another war was unimaginable

"Yes he _was_." Simon replied.

"Was?" Minoj queried, already tiring of Petrelli's cryptic answers.

"Remember the carnival incident? The issue he based his entire campaign on?" Simon responded to his companion's clearly irritated face.

"You don't think he…?"

"I don't think, I know."

"How?" Minoj's eyes narrowed.

"Monty." Simon replied simply watching his cohort's eyes go wide.

"You talked to him. You can't be seen with him! Do you know what the government would do if they found out you were in communication with Enemy One? You're a senator for godssakes!" Minoj practically yelled as he looked around the room in sudden paranoia. The Petrelli's were notorious for walking people right into setups. Everyone except Pete. He was the best of that family, their only redeeming member.

"Calm down. We were careful." Simon replied with that collected and composed demeanor that was his family's trademark.

"Is that what you told Micah before you had him imprisoned?"

Simon's green eyes hardened at the mention of former foe. "Micah was a loose cannon, you know that. Always going off on his own personal crusade. He would've exposed us all."

"He was trying to make the world better." Minoj countered.

Simon bristled. "He was trying to assuage his conscience."

"Molly's incident _wasn't_ his fault."

"It wasn't _not_ his fault either."

"She knew the risk." The scientist replied in a clipped and clinical tone that spoke nothing of the relationship he and Mollyshared.

"No! She trusted Micah, and look where it got her."

Minoj stared at Simon a second longer convinced more than ever what this was really about. "You're still in love with her."

Simon's eyes grew dark at the implication. He and Molly's circumstances would forever be a sore topic that was never tolerated well, even by his cool veneer. "Minoj, you are treading _very_ dangerous waters."

"No. that's it, isn't it? This is about Molly, not Pete. Pete is a means to an end. When he was in charge Micah wasn't and the fact that he has so much power eats at you."

Simon pursed his lips heatedly to the accusation. "You know you and your father have a lot in common." He alleged turning his back on the young half-Indian man. "You never know when to shut the hell up."

Minoj raised an eyebrow not daring to counter that particular reality.

After a long silence Simon rounded his desk again. "Pete's alive, somewhere in time. The past the future I don't know. But we have to locate him first, before Kurt finds out."

Minoj's cerulean eyes flickered in detachment. "What do you think he's up to?"

"I think he's trying to rewrite history."

Minoj looked at Simon with growing irritation in his eyes. "But at what cost? Long ago Hiro told me that time was fools game. You step on the wrong butterfly and you can accidentally negate your own birth. How does he know what he's changed? We're still here, the war still happened. If he's in the past what did he change?"

Simon took a seat on the edge of his desk in a posture that spoke volumes over his words. "I don't know. But I'm pretty sure the Rebels do. They've been leading him on this whole time. They know he's volatile. That's why they sent him back."

Minoj's usually unruffled bearing fell into a twisted visage of pure rage. "They gave him the ability to fuck with the past! Do you know how incredibly stupid that is?"

"Please Minoj…it's all under control. They've got someone watching him."

"No! Fuck you and your _control_! I've been following your harebrained attempts at conciliation with the Rebels for ten years now, but this is pure madness. He's back there in Vishnu knows when. Have you ever stopped to think what if he undoes _US_!"

Simon narrowed his eyes at the man in exasperation. "He can't. He needs us. Besides he's not that far back."

"Even a minute back is too far and if they could've controlled him they would've done it already. They're up to something."

"Look most of the rebels want what we want. They're our family and friends but instead of working with the government they decided that terrorism and threats were the way to change the current world order. I don't think for a second their motives are sinister.

"Speak for yourself. In case you've forgotten it was _your_ brother that tried to have me killed last year."

Simon pursed his lips in irritation at that problematic truth. "Minoj, we can't dwell on that right now. What we need to do is find Nakamura."

"He won't help us." Minoj stated tersely. "He said he'd crushed a million butterflies going back and forth. He won't risk it again."

"He will for my sister." Simon assumed, his voice suddenly strained.

Minoj looked questioningly at the apparently aggrieved Senator. "Claire?"

"She's the key, the anchor that roots the past and present. My grandmother disclosed that information in a note left to me in her will." Minoj lifted an eyebrow in trepidation yet Simon continued. "Somehow she knew this time would come. Hiro will help. He knows the stakes."

Minoj broke his gaze and looked thoughtfully at the large picture window for moment. "Why would Hiro help her? Claire's done a lot of terrible things, and I'm not even including her supposed role in the April 5th Massacre. Besides she's a little unhinged."

Simon glared at his friend for the cutting comment but continued on. "Wouldn't you be if you spent the last thirty years with a sociopath? Besides Hiro has always said he owed Sylar. What he owed him I really not sure of. The guy is a complete wackjob."

"Not to mention what he did to your father."

Simon grimaced at the remark but continued undaunted. "There's that, but I think there's more to this story than Nakamura is letting on."

Minoj simply stared at Simon skeptically as the older man looked off into the empty space in the corner of his office, seeming to indicate the presence of an unseen guest. The air around shimmered as Monty walked out of the shadows and into visibility. He wore a spiteful leer directed at Minoj that was equally returned with a malicious glare.

"Play nice.' Simon announced as he felt the tension rise palpably.

Monty's lips twisted. "With him? He tried to have me killed."

"Not like you didn't deserve it." Minoj countered with a low growl.

"Guys! Focus! We have a common enemy. He's after the Emperor, and he's trying to undo history."

"Fine." Minoj conceded reluctantly, causing Monty's sneer to deepen.

"Pete's somewhere lost in time, but he most likely still has his ability. If we can find him…" Simon trailed off as he suddenly realized the only one who could find a special was now powerless.

"Molly." Monty announced triumphantly.

"Molly doesn't have her ability anymore." Minoj derided with a self-satisfied expression at his nemesis lack of situational awareness.

Monty gave the seemingly vapid scientist a look of haughty derision that would've put Sylar himself to shame. "She did when she was twelve."

"Oh-okay." Minoj mocked as he gave Simon a look of exasperation. Why were they even talking to him when they could be calling homeland security?

"I have a twelve-year old Molly Walker." Monty announced moving to stand near Simon, who didn't appear to be surprised by the fact that the young counterpart, of the love of his life, was now trapped in their time.

Minoj spun around finally giving the self described terrorist his full attention. "How?"

"We have our ways." Monty sneered with disdain.

Minoj seethed as he leveled Simon with an evil glare. "Now who's changing history?"

"If they hadn't gotten to her Kurt would be back here and well on his way to ascension and you know it." Simon stated with a hint of dread.

"Where's Hiro in all this? He said that he would never time-shift again. He could not have excused this kidnapping?" Minoj stood advancing on the brothers, rage in his chest at the apparent violation.

"Yes he did. Who else would've put that lunatic there?" Monty said with clenched teeth.

The physician still looked unconvinced and gave Simon a glance of disapproval for condoning the kidnapping of a young Molly Walker.

"Who else have you stolen from time? My mother? My father? Trying to somehow undo _me_? What is it Monty? Trying to eliminate the competition ahead of conception?"

Monty's green eyes flashed in challenge and he moved closer to the doctor menacingly. "First of all, you're no competition and trust me, when I undo you, you will be breathing… not for long but breathing."

Simon looked on exasperated. Every time these two got into a room it was only a matter of moments before blows were traded.

"Gentlemen, let's not dwell on this, please. There's a madman loose in the past with Pete. Let's focus on that."

"When?" Minoj raged with clenched teeth.

Monty sneered at the scientists terse one word questions. "Harvard education, huh doctor? I'm a Yale man myself." He moved to sit on the edge of Simon's desk to look Minoj in the eye. "They taught us to use more than one word when asking questions. Generally clears up the confusion associated with curt inquiries."

Minoj bristled at the snub delivering his reformulated question with an eviscerating glare. "What point in time did he go to?"

"2011"

If it was possible for a man of his complexion to go pale Minoj would've been bed sheet white. "The year Pete was born!"

"Yes."

"That's only a year before I was born…before Aiden and Jonathan."

Monty swallowed hard realizing the enormity of somehow miscalculating the chances of Aiden and Jonathan's birth. Forget the war. They'd all be dead decades before it started.

"Do you realize what he could do? In the blink of an eye I won't even exist. All he has to do is be at the right place at the right time."

"Scary ain't it?" Monty scoffed trying to make light of the unease growing in his stomach.

Simon looked genuinely concerned as similar thoughts swirled in his head as well and pulled on his collar nervously. "Monty, you do realize our mother can't defend herself, and we were only unmanifested kids. Do you at least know what month or day?"

"I'm aware. But no. We're sure it's at a time he can't really manipulate too much. Obviously nothing has changed." Monty said with an exasperated huff.

The room grew silent as the implication of what Kurt could be doing right now sunk in. would they even noticed if things were different or would it just be their reality. Time travel held such pitfalls. Could changes be the catalyst or the conclusion to their current existence?

Simon's gaze grew reflective before his eyes widened in sudden realization. "The day Pete was born!" He turned to Monty with sudden horror on his usually trained face.

"What?" Monty exclaimed with equal alarm.

"Don't you remember?" he grabbed his brother's shoulder trying to will his understanding.

"Remember what?"

Minoj looked at the both of them totally lost to their current train of thought.

"That was the day."

Monty appeared not to follow his brother's thinking and broke the harsh grip of his sibling's hands to meet Minoj's gaze with a mutually confused look.

Simon turned his back to the men to stare out his high rise window, his whole body shaking with alarm. "He was there."

**0000000**

**Present Day-Mt. Sinai Hospital, Manhattan, New York City, New York**

Claire woke with a start to the soft hand on her shoulder. Looking up she locked eyes with the soft chocolate pools of her lover.

"Hey." He murmured tenderly sweeping the golden halo of curls off her forehead.

She smiled sleepily and stretched her body free of the foreign kinks in her spine from the position she'd fallen asleep in. It was strange how she still hadn't gotten used to her slowed healing ability and the reemergence of soreness.

"She's dilated to an eight. Only a matter of time now."

Claire gave Sylar's hand an affectionate squeeze and with it a toothy grin. "I can't believe it. I'm going to be a…_cousin._" She declared a little confoundedly and smiled realizing that even though she felt like an aunt she really wasn't. She could wait to meet the little guy. Visions of floppy dark haired child with soulful brown eyes danced in her brain; a Peter mini-me. Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought.

Sylar gazed her lovingly and brushed his hand affectionately along her cheek and she snuggled into his touch. Sylar's eyes closed overwhelmed by the emotions that simple action brought forth.

They just spent two of the most amazing days together and it was honestly starting to feel like Claire might have been serious about being with him.

After they left the diner, he promised to take her somewhere 'away from here.' Within a few hours they were in Cabo san Lucas on a beach at an exclusive resort.

Sylar recalled with satisfaction the broad grin on her sun kissed face as she soaked in the bright rays and laid on a lounge chair sipping on virgin margaritas.

As the sun set she even let him hold her as they lay together, silent and content. By moonrise all that could be heard were their fevered pants as they made love on the lounge chair Claire adored so much.

Sylar closed his eyes at the memory. He should have bought that chair, turned it gold and had it mounted for his own private collection.

In Mexico he and Claire had bonded like the past five years had never happened. No drama, no animosity, just them. They were happy, at least he was. He just couldn't be sure of her. He was forever hopeful, but never sure. She had smiled like he hadn't seen her do in a long time, but looks were often deceiving with her.

One bright hope was that when he had whispered his repeated declarations of love in the heights of passion she simply smiled and kissed him. It wasn't reciprocation but it was a start.

And he was…happy.

He'd never been happy before. Sated yes, but never content. He'd never experienced that feeling of peace that follows the accomplishment of a critical goal. It was so surreal to realize that even though he never knew it, Claire and the baby were his ultimate objective.

Sylar let his mind drift away from the pleasurable visions of Claire in her red bikini, her slightly rounded belly, full with their creation and back to the task at hand.

He surveyed his crack team of defense with a smirk of pride. He had gathered quite the lineup of Sullivan carnies, Evan Davis sat across from Claire with his wife and a toddler. His ability of sensing danger was essential right now, due to their current proximity to Emma's room and especially with all the abilities surrounding the maternity ward and outside the hospital.

Normal, non special people had no clue but the fifth floor of this hospital was really more secure than Ft. Knox itself. Edgar stood outside the main floor waiting room as the first defense. Pearl, a projectilist, was with him in case speed wasn't the only problem they faced, Teddy, a cloaker, waited by the main elevators in the event the intruder made it past the first two levels of defense.

Sylar was satisfied in this _team_ he concocted, they even looked the part, dressed accordingly in street clothes and not the flashy carnie attire, so as not to stand out.

Only one person was notably missing from the kith, kin and defensive group forming in the maternity ward, and his lack of presence, bothered Sylar more than he was willing to admit.

Mohinder had been unreachable for the past two days and Sylar hated to say it, but he was getting worried. Had the guy they were looking for taken out the geneticist already? If that was the case he wasn't sure what his next move was going to be.

Micah moved towards the two Petrelli boys on the end of the uncomfortable bench seating in the corner, PSP's in hand. They looked every bit the cousins they were now made to be, like they'd been together all their life. Micah told Simon of a cool cheat code and he grinned at his older adopted cousin in admiration.

They looked so familial, like a group of brothers and Sylar's heart ached for the loss of his only brother in both senses.

At least he still had his boys.

_No._

_Not his boys_.

Nevertheless Sylar stared at them longingly. In some respects he felt the spirit of Nathan wanting to hug them, love them, comfort them in a way only a father could. He fought the urge. Besides in a few months he'd have his own family. But it bothered him still.

Sylar's gaze wandered over to Claire and he couldn't suppress his smile; she was playing some gestures game with the Davis child to which the little girl found overwhelming delight. He beamed in satisfaction that one day she'd be doing that with their own children and his steely heart melted.

People mulled around in the quiet room tapping feverously on various electronics to pass the time. After an hour had passed with no word on Emma's condition, Sylar began to get antsy. He was about to bother the nursing staff for the sixth time today, when a man dressed in scrubs emerged from the passcode fortified doors and stood nervously in the waiting room. Behind him Sylar noticed a red-faced nurse who quickly ducked behind the nurses' station before the doors closed. Sylar turned immediately to the doctor feeling his chaotic thoughts with a questioning stare. Something was wrong.

The OBGYN, known as Dr. Staring, was a good friend of the elder Dr. Coolidge, and a mentor of sorts to Emma as well.

Emma had said she trusted him with her life, and thus he was the only one she felt comfortable with for this pregnancy, and at that moment Sylar hoped her faith was well placed.

"There's been… a complication."

Claire rose to stand by Sylar her face arresting in a look of terrified anticipation. "Is Emma okay? The baby?" her suddenly shaking fingers crept around Sylar's to anchor herself.

All eyes in the waiting area locked on the physician with nervous expressions.

"The baby is okay, but unfortunately," he paused tears forming in his pale blue eyes, "Dr. Coolidge didn't make it….There was too much blood loss. We did everything—" he stopped, his voice wavering and looked down to steel his resolve while fighting his own emotions and the once bubbly crowd went immediately despondent.

Sylar stood there stalk still, as the shock of this information began to sink in. Attacks he was ready for, but Emma succumbing to dead by natural causes was a contingency he was unprepared for.

Meanwhile, Claire's heart beat double, triple; she stumbled back then let out a wail that could've summoned the dead. Sylar woke from his trance at the sound, just in time to catch her before she crumpled on the floor.

"Noooo! She has to be okay. This can't happen again!" Claire wailed and several others began to fight their own tears as the news began to sink-in across the group.

Sylar fought the panic rising in his mind. Death was such a harsh matter when it came to people he cared about and he didn't even think Claire, with her partially functioning ability, could survive an attempt to revive her, and his blood was not the same…shared but not authentic.

That only meant one thing.

Emma was really dead…

He'd failed Peter once again.

**A/N: What did you think? Good? Bad? Ugly? Alert and Review.**


	21. Tomorrow is Yesterday

**Chapter 21-Tomorrow Is Yesterday**

**A/N:I know I'm a terrible person. I became that deadbeat writer I promised myself I'd never be. But writers block, a new job and a baby later and I'm finally ready for a comeback. Last chapter left off with a pretty harsh cliffhanger. So I knew I couldn't end it there. Sorry if there are glaring errors but it's been a while. Thank you if you're still reading this story after two years. **

**Save Yourself-Sense Field**

"_**There's been… a complication."**_

_**Claire rose to stand by Sylar her face arresting in a look of terrified anticipation. "Is Emma okay? The baby?" her fingers crept around Sylar's to anchor herself. **_

"_**The baby is okay, but unfortunately," he paused tears forming in his pale blue eyes, "Dr. Coolidge didn't make it…."**_

"Can we see her?" Sylar asked his stoic resolve regrouping.

He had to be the strong one here. He could break down later, but right now, in the absence of a leader he was _**IT**_ by de facto. He had to be strong even though the little boy inside of him just curled up into a ball and mourned from yet another devastating blow.

He looked down at the shaking girl beside him and his mind hardened even more, she was shaking like a leaf with the strangest look on her face. Above all he had to be a rock for Claire.

Dr. Staring looked at the tall younger man with a hint of skepticism. "Hospital policy…"

"Are you really going to deny us right now?" Sylar interrupted with a hint of annoyance laced with his grief.

Dr. Staring swiped quickly at his eyes to remove the trace moisture before his posture deflated. "No."

The doctor turned to lead, and Sylar gripped Claire's hand, while looking over his shoulder for Micah to join. Emma was his adoptive mother after all; he deserved the right to pay his last respects.

Micah in composure way beyond his years rose to grasp Claire's hand like a lifeline and the trio followed the doctor into room 527.

All of the beeps had ceased and the room was stone silent, a sheet had been pulled over the body lying in the bed. The one they knew as Emma Coolidge was now reduced to a lifeless vessel with no subsistence, a corporeal remnant of a once remarkable person.

Claire looked on with a choked breath, fighting a fresh onslaught of tears, this wasn't real. It just couldn't be. All they'd been through was now reduced to this abrupt conclusion. It was all so pointless, why did they keep on fighting this inevitable ending.

Even after all the deaths she'd experienced, she always likened the experience to a video game; you die you come back, a little worn, but alive. For everyone else death was a permanent state.

It wasn't fair; Peter, Matty, Molly, Janice and now Emma. It was all just too much.

She released a strangled wail and Micah managed to hold her shaking form while Sylar rounded the bed to stand by Emma's side.

Dr. Staring excused himself from the small grieving clan to give them a moment of privacy. As soon as he closed the door, Sylar snatched back the covers, to the shock of both Claire and Micah.

"What are you doing?" Claire hissed in anger at the desecration.

"I can fix this." Sylar stated as a trancelike expression crossed his face. It was all too similar to the look of his hunger, but different. More of a yearning.

Sylar touched Emma's pale forehead with an open palm, his eyes closed as though he was trying to reach her mind.

"You can't fix death!" Micah said in a whispered scream.

"Why not? _We_ do it every day." Sylar replied locking eyes with Claire.

"Sylar." Claire warned in a half sob, half-admonishment.

"Let me try!" He replied almost angrily. He had to fix this. He couldn't heal Peter but he could fix this. He had to. He promised Peter. He had to fix this.

Claire nodded her assent and he moved to hover over Emma's head. Concentrating on Emma's body, Sylar commanded the brain to operate, the heart to pump and other vital organs to resume functioning.

He felt the spark of life return to her mind, but it was faint, like a tiny blip on the radar and barely noticeable.

_Was she too far gone? If only he'd been here sooner._

He focused harder; eyes closed willing her to respond.

Several tense seconds of tussling with the minute life sign, he realized maybe it was his wishful thinking that he even felt it in the first place. He gave Claire a look that brought fresh tears to her eyes.

She was gone.

Sylar's eyes began to sparkle with unshed tears.

Emma was really dead and their last hope was dashed. Death was indeed a heartless bitch.

**00000**

_Storm clouds built in the darkening sky providing the perfect omen for the wretched day ahead. The crowd had all dissipated, leaving two shadows to hover over the gaping hole in the ground. As the first drops of moisture patted against the ground somber green eyes took a final look at the world as she knew it._

"_So this is what it feels like." a soft voice uttered to no one in particular, scratchy from days of disuse._

"_What?" came the question from a masculine yet equally rough tone._

"_The nothing."_

_His fingers tightened around the small ones encased in his. "I'm not sure what you mean?"_

"_Losing everything."_

_Claire's beautiful eyes shone with tears as she looked up sadly at her husband. Gabriel seemed transfixed on the hole in front of them. His anger from the days prior was now swallowed in grief and she hurt so badly, that for the fiftieth time today she willed her invincible heart to stop beating, just to spare her the heartbreak. _

_It was her fault they were here. He shouldn't forgive her._

_Gabriel looked at her suppressing his own tears._

_They knew this day would come, but knowing and living it weren't the same._

_The dirt feel into the grave as workers feverishly filled the cavernous hole, every plod against the wooden box echoing in her mind. _

_Gabriel clutched Claire's small hand as they gazed sullenly at the earth that would entomb their sons for eternity._

_As the workers abandoned the slow shovel work to give way to the backhoe on standby, her anger grew, multiplied until grief became secondary._

_It was at that moment that she was no longer Claire Gray. That girl lay buried with the small boxes six feet deep._

_She felt the slip, and her fingers disentangled themselves from her husbands._

_Gabriel looked down just in time to see that something was happening. Something he hoped would never come. She gave him a look that spoke volumes above any words she could ever say._

_Then she said it. The words he knew would come._

"_Don't wait for me?"_

_Gabriel shook his head willing her to stay, to not give in .She backed away, looking like sunlight wrapped in death's shadow, her destiny. The prophecy had declared as much but they'd always thought it the ramblings of crazy precog._

"_We can't give in Claire." he begged hoping the hopelessness of his voice would cause her to pity him and stay but knowing it wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be._

_She shook her head in disagreement. "You have your ways to cope and I have mine."_

_She gave him one more lingering stare as her heart fell to her feet. This was the last time she'd see Gabriel and her stomach flopped violently at the knowledge._

_She couldn't leave it like this. Running back she looked at the hard lines on his handsome face, the fullness of his lips. She'd never touch them again. Never feel his heartbeat as she fell asleep next to him. This was it. Tears blurred her vision as she gave him a kiss that stated unequivocally that this was it; their last moment as husband and wife. _

_There was no going back for either of them and revenge was only the beginning._

**xxxxxxxx**

On the floor below, a very groggy patient suddenly woke from his three month nap. He palmed his head as the dizziness hit him full force. The beeping machines around him picked up their tempo and on instinct he began to insulate the room from the annoying clamor.

He looked around and the quick realization hit him, he was in the hospital. A deep grimace crossed his face. _How long had he been here?_

After answering natures call he stumbled on unsteady legs back to his bed. Quirking his lips to the breeze of cold air on his nether regions, he soon recognized he wasn't wearing much in the way of clothing. Eyes wide with the realization that he'd been in this state of undress for months, he blushed as to what the nursing staff, not to mention one very important woman may have seen.

Easing out of the bed he faltered to a stand. Grimacing down at the poor excuse for attire, he passed his hand over his chest and down his legs and the thin gown transformed into a pale button-up shirt and expensive looking slacks. He stood questioningly looking at his lack of footwear and glanced around the room for a suitable solution.

Finding a plastic tub he nodded to the peculiarity of necessity, before retrieving it. He stood in the pink container and with a quick flick of his wrist, the basin shifted into black Italian leather shoes. Wigging his feet in the footwear he looked over his handiwork. Not too shabby. He really loved this ability.

He walked over to stand in front of the small sink mirror and the sight that greeted him shocked him to the core. He had a full beard, his hair was a grease ball, and his deep hazel eyes had dark circles that ironically looked as though he hadn't slept in weeks. He looked like a James Bond Hobo.

After passing his hand over his face, all of the hair and imperfections disappeared. He smiled with a crooked grin that was his trademark and strolled unimpeded from the room. He didn't know what today was, but he had mission and his first stop was finding they woman that held the key to their survival.

**00000**

Mohinder rounded the corner of the hotel building overlooking Zimmerman's long abandoned New York apartment. It had been their safe house for the better part of two days and the two of them were still no closer to figuring out what part he played in this whole scenario.

Dr. Zimmerman was a surprisingly spry elderly gentleman, who seemed to know the streets of New York like the genetic coding of an ameba. Moving from place to place gathering things, he always seemed to come back to this neighborhood and when he did he stayed for hours.

Apparently he was no longer stalking Claire, but instead he seemed to be in the plotting and collecting phase of whatever plan he had hatched.

The aging man had been so busy he hadn't bothered to call his daughter for an entire week. Which given his level of attention to her, was odd to say the least. Not to mention the fact that he thought a decomposing body was occupying his study.

Mohinder signaled for Barbara to stay put and he slithered to the empty alleyway adjacent to the building. Zimmerman had a box full of books and computer hardware that overloaded his frail looking arms. As he balanced the box he stopped and looked around suspiciously, beginning to sniff at the air.

Trying to remain inconspicuous, Mohinder tried not to panic and moved to the back of a trash bin trying to keep the apprehensive geneticist in sight.

"Come out!" the elderly man yelled. He put down the haphazardly packed box and backed away, seeming to search for an item in his waistband.

"I know you're following me?" Both Mohinder and Barbara took in a huge breath as their eyes meet across the twenty foot gap on opposite sides of the alley.

"I don't have it!" he announced to the alleyway, just as he brandished a small caliber pistol.

Mohinder took in a deep breath and Barbara suppressed a scream, as the aging doctor neared Mohinder's position.

"You're scared now aren't ya?" Zimmerman announced to his would be assailant as his voice echoed off the solid brick walls.

"I killed hundreds during the war with far less than this. Don't be fooled, into thinking you'd survive an encounter with me."

The elderly man cautiously approached Mohinder's location and then a resounding explosion filled the alley.

It took Mohinder three seconds to realize he was hit before he collapsed still holding his tongue hoping Zimmerman would run now that he thought he'd gotten his point across.

Instead he began to stalk the side street looking for whom or what he thought was following him.

The older man kicked at a pile of soggy boxes and watched in resignation as a terrified cat leaped for safety. His examined the quiet alley again, sufficed yet disappointed that his stalker was really a feral animal. Zimmerman pushed at a trash bin with his foot for good measure and the sound echoed off the cavernous walls. Barbara suppressed a scream as he came within inches of her hiding place behind a pile of full trash bags.

Satisfied with the silence, Zimmerman left the alley and retrieved the box of aging books and computer components before casually walking back down the street.

Barbara and Mohinder held their breath for another thirty seconds before, she rushed to his position. She eased a small hand to his neck that was now oozing bright red blood that pooled on his collar. "It doesn't look that deep. Just a knick, I think."

Mohinder gave her a small smile as she began to wrap a cloth around his gash on his neck. Her face was a mere three inches away, and Mohinder realized how good she smelled, even as the stench of fear and garbage that surrounded them only moments ago, lingered heavily.

During the course they had shifted into a position that awkwardly resembled a lover's embrace unconsciously moving closer as she examined his wounds and now their bodies were barely inches apart.

"Thank you, Barbara." He replied in that husky timbre that could generally reduce the opposite sex into a hopeless pile of hormones, but for some reason Barbara seemed oddly unaffected.

"No problem." She replied her voice barely above a whisper but still chipper, not betraying any of the worry she felt for the man on the other side of her.

She tore off another piece of his shirt to help stop the bleeding and noticed how his eyes followed her every movement.

Their eyes locked as she dabbed at wound making him wince. Realizing that this injury was probably going to require more than general first aid, Barbara gave him a sympathetic smirk. "We should probably get you to the hospital."

**000000**

The room was silent.

The sheet still hung heavily off the bed revealing the lifeless corpse of the one they knew as Emma Coolidge-Petrelli while the grief-stricken trio tried to look anywhere but.

Sylar took a deep swallow over the lump in his throat as he readied himself to again let go. It never got easier. And he briefly pondered the grief he had caused countless others. He took Emma's cold hand and gave it a squeeze in farewell, before pulling the thin white shroud back onto her body.

A second passed, and then a deep gasp filled the room. Sylar's eyes flew to Claire fearing she was about to dissolve into another fit of sobbing, when he noticed the sound was much closer.

All eyes darted to the bed as Emma took her first reborn breath. She let loose a deeper gasp, then a hoarse cough as her lungs resumed their functioning.

She was shaking and confused as her eyes fluttered and focused on the fuzzy figure hovering above her,

As her sight refocused she saw the face of her hero and gripped this hand harder. She had died, and gone from this world, but not far. Panic gripped her shaking body as she realized she could still be here in some weird ghost-like state.

Then his hand clenched hers like a vice. He was real and he saved her again.

She focused on him her eyes pleading, _'Was it you? Did you just save me?'_

Sylar nodded unable to speak, not caring that she saw his tears. He was just happy she could see anything.

"Thank you." Emma whispered hoarsely.

Sylar stared at her at a loss for words. Twice now he'd saved her and the overwhelming feeling of elation never got old.

Emma's gaze swiveled from her two-time hero to Claire and Micah who were still trying to believe that the woman, who only seconds ago, lay cold and blue, was now talking and beckoning them to come closer.

Micah flew towards the bed and fell on her, sobbing into her shoulder. He'd already lost enough parental figures to last several lifetimes; this loss would've just undone him.

Emma kissed the top of his sleek dark curls in a mothering gesture while trying to reassure him that she was okay. Micah gave her a stare of love that only a child could convey and Sylar felt his eternal heart constrict again.

Claire had found her way to Emma's bedside and now lay with her head down weeping into the bloodstained white sheets. Her hand reached out behind her searching for something and caught Sylar's shirt hem. He came in closer as she pulled, letting her fingers clutch his clothing in a death grip. As he could feel her need to just have him near her.

Sylar shivered as the full onslaught of emotions from this room and the entire ward overwhelmed his consciousness. He'd forgotten to put the guard back up on his empathy, but it didn't matter, the emotions in this room were happy ones and served to drown out the morose feelings from before.

Emma laced her fingers into Claire's hair and Claire rose to let her eyes meet her best friend's. They shared an unspoken thought and both of them allowed their tearstained gazes to swivel up to Sylar.

His face was arrested in a look of distress yet still slight peaceful satisfaction. Drying tear tracks trailed from his crimson rimmed eyes, and in that moment he couldn't have been more beautiful to Claire.

He was every bit the hero Peter said he was and more. He was Emma's protector as well as hers and possibly the hero to countless others she'd refused to acknowledge because of his past.

_Sylar was at the core a good guy, or maybe it was Gabriel's influence, _but nevertheless a part of her stony resolve cracked._ He was more than the monster of her nightmares, and much more than a good lay, he was essential, he was… _

Claire's erratic thoughts whirled to one seemingly impossible concept. Love. She could love him. It was possible. In another time she knew it had already happened. She'd loved him. She had loved him so much it made her heart ache. She could…

Her heart beat faster as she realized the irony of her thoughts. Could it have already happened?

She was already there and her heart knew it before she could give life to the concept.

He was what she wanted…what she needed.

She was _in love_ with Sylar. The father of her child, the man that promised to be her eternal partner. It was the most mind boggling concept.

Now all she had to do is make sure that the circumstances of her latest vision never came true.

**000000**

A stunning blonde covered in streaks of crimson approached the front desk of the ER with a look that could have shaken a hardened criminal. Her blue eyes focused on the nurse clearly trying to ignore her.

"I need to see a doctor! My— friend has been shot." Barbara stuttered as the oddness of her relationship with a man she'd only known for a week seemed to sink in.

The nurse handed her a clipboard without bothering to look up, much less acknowledging the urgency of her request.

"Fill out page 1 at the top, pages 2 through 5 completely, and then bring it back up to me. The doctors are behind so it may be up to an hour before we can get you back, so have a seat." She rattled off like it was a speech she'd given several times today.

The blonde huffed in exasperation, before snatching the clipboard and finding a chair close to her injured companion.

"It may be up to an hour, which is strange because they seem _so_ responsive," Barbara said with a sarcastic loudness she was sure the nurse at the counter heard.

Mohinder smiled despite the throbbing of his neck wound. "Yes, I've had speedier treatment in India, and there's over a billion of us there, wonder what this hospital's excuse is."

Barbara grinned, her eyes locking on his, and then the air became thin as the look intensified. She swallowed hard looking towards the papers ignoring the flip of her stomach the intensity of his stare created.

Mohinder too broke the gaze and instead looked around the ER. It was then that he finally noticed the eclectic group of injured souls lounged haphazardly in the small waiting room.

One in particular locked eyes with him and smiled.

The boy couldn't have been more than twelve but his gaze seemed to denote years beyond that time.

The adolescent was with what Mohinder assumed was his father and was nursing a wound on his forehead with an icepack as his distracted three-piece suit wearing father grumbled loudly about dividends on his phone.

Mohinder felt a strangeness overtake him as he stared at the child. It was like he knew him.

The boy gave him a nod as if he knew his thoughts, before slumping back in his chair as though the connection they just shared had never occurred.

Mohinder gaze settled across the room following the boy's last sight and onto a face he'd know anywhere.

The tall individual strode into the room with the ease of a man with purpose and intent and stood imposingly in front of the pair, giving Barbra an accusatory look for her lack recognition.

"Fancy meeting you here." He stated with deadpanned smoothness as he adjusted his horn rimmed glasses.

Mohinder gave Noah a hard stare. "What do you want?"

"I need to find Claire."

Mohinder's eyebrow lifted and Barbara glanced at the towering man with renewed interest.

"Why?" Mohinder questioned still unsure the motives Noah held, even for his own child.

"Someone is after her. Someone really dangerous."

Both Mohinder and Barbara shared a knowing look.

**0000000**

After Sylar did a personal best in erasing the memory of the nursing staff and Dr. Staring of Emma's _**death**_, a small group gathered to look in the window of the nursery to gaze at the new addition to their _special_ world.

There were three baby girls and four boys there but only one looked like a Petrelli.

The newborn lay quietly swaddled in his blankets while his six other tiny roommates wailed. His thick auburn locks stood up straight in the air as though he had been electrically charged, and his tiny little nose wrinkled as he released a big toothless yawn; to which all onlookers released a collective _"Ahhh."_ 8lbs 2oz, 19in and the specimen of health.

Yes, Peter Christopher Petrelli Jr. was every bit his father's son.


End file.
